


To Eden

by unfortunate17



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin and Obi-Wan have long overdue conversations, Fix-It, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Post-Episode: s05e20 The Wrong Jedi, They both need therapy, a what-if-obi-wan-was-accused-and-put-on-trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27257329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunate17/pseuds/unfortunate17
Summary: Accused of masterminding the Jedi Temple bombing, Obi-Wan is expelled from the Order.Anakin is left to pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 203
Kudos: 611





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've written most of this fic already, I just can't seem to find the time to sit down and edit all of it at once so here it is in chunks! I'm estimating there should be roughly 6 parts. Fair warning, Anakin will do quite a bit of crying LOL

Cato Neimodia’s acidic oceans churned ominously below the perilous bridge Anakin had found himself on. Many of his men looked green around the edges, pointedly not looking down as they divided into flanks to keep the droids at bay. The steep drop from the cliffs was a dizzying sight and the thick layer of fog certainly didn’t help with visibility or nerves.

It was a gray day, a light drizzle blanketing the sky for a few hours now. The rain was acidic too, though not deadly to humans like the oceans were – just enough to faintly burn when it pittered against bare skin. Anakin could see his men huddling miserably under their standard issue rain gear, probably wishing that they were still on their starfighter rotation.

“General,” he catches sight of Rex waving at him from the end of the narrow bridge, “We’re going to need more air support. The clankers are coming in through the water and there’s no way we’re going to be able to cut off their position from up here. We don’t have any equipment that can withstand this acid.”

Anakin rubs his temples, his uncomfortable rain slick sticking to him with cold sweat. The last he’d heard from Ahsoka and Jesse, the air battle was still raging. The Separatists had been attempting a blockade, which had to be avoided at all costs. “I can try contacting Ahsoka, but our starfighters are spread thin as it is, Rex. The Council said they’d send us more reinforcements, but I haven’t heard from Obi-Wan or the 212th in a few rotations.”

Rex shakes his head, “Not good enough, General Skywalker. Hope you don’t mind but I already took the liberty of contacting our boys up in the sky and Jesse says he might be able to spare a few ships. Commander Tano says she’s tired of flying and can bring one or two of them down with her.”

“Of course she can,” Anakin snorts. “Never one to miss out on the action, is she?”

“No, sir,” Rex grins, “Takes after you that way.”

Anakin sends him a mock glare which seems to brighten the trooper’s damp mood. “Careful, Captain, or I’ll have you brought in for sedition.” Some of the other troopers are watching them now, Anakin can feel their amusement lingering in the air and it makes him smile under his rain hood. Sometimes, he swears that if the war hadn’t brought him to the 501st, he’s not sure what he’d have done. He can’t remember a time without them, before them.

Rex salutes, but it’s languid, years of camaraderie easing the motion. Anakin nods at him in response and Rex returns to organizing the men. Anakin ducks under a ledge, leans back and eyes the churning acid under them with unease. He has a sinking feeling this is going to be a tougher battle than anybody’s expected. The force roils in unease, prods and pinches at him, and Anakin can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong.

Luckily, it takes Ahsoka less than a half hour to arrive, her ship smoking slightly from where it looks like she’s taken some damage. Luckily all the major engine and fuel storage components look to be fine; the ship still runs smoothly enough for Anakin to breathe easy. Three other Republic starfighters trail behind her, landing precariously on the small flat area the cliff up ahead affords them. Flat ground here is a rare commodity – he hopes none of the men are afraid of heights.

At the sight of the starships, his men whoop, cheers going up around him. Happiness is simple on the battlefield. An extra ration bar here, a few more hours of sleep there, a day with no blaster fire. Nothing can be taken for granted out here.

“Hello Master,” Ahsoka calls to him, unbuckling herself from the cockpit and force-flipping over the fighter beside her. Anakin’s heart lurches for a second, the ground isn’t rock solid everywhere, worn away by the fierce battery of waves over time.

“Snips,” he warns, in way of greeting, “be careful.”

She laughs, lands gracefully, and crosses the last few feet between them on foot. “I always am, Master. Besides, it wasn’t me that crashed their fighter this morning.”

Anakin frowns at her, reaches up to make sure her montrals are tucked tightly under her rain hood. Ahsoka looks like a loth cat caught out in the rain, and it’s as endearing as it is worrisome. “That wasn’t my fault,” he reminds her, cocking an eyebrow, “I was too busy making sure those buzz droids didn’t kill us both.”

“You mean you were distracted,” Ahsoka teases, her smile sharp and biting. Anakin feels the blackness of his mood lift further. It’s good to have Ahsoka by his side where she belongs, where he can keep her safe. She’s always been small for her age and it makes her look even younger than she already is. Sometimes, it sends a pang through him, the thought of her on a battlefield. He hopes that this will be over soon so that he can train her at the temple.

Anakin has many fond memories of his early Padawan years with Obi-Wan at the temple, his youth bathed in the golden sunset of Coruscant and the peace of the Room of a Thousand Fountains. But the war has changed him, made him far more restless than he used to be. He doesn’t think he can stay cooped up in the Temple for weeks on end anymore. Force knows he used to complain about then, now he thinks he’d go completely stir-crazy.

Nevertheless, he’d like to give Ahsoka a sparring lesson that’s not entirely focused on droids or blaster fire someday soon.

Ahsoka leans into him, almost without thought, and Anakin brings his arms up around her to pull her closer. He tucks his chin atop her rain-hood, catches the eye of a trooper who smiles at the sight. “Which position do you want?” he asks, “You can come with me or go with Rex. We’re going to divide the men between us so we can out flank the droids.”

He feels her smile against the sliver of exposed skin at his neck. She tugs at the sleeve of his rain coat, pulling back, “I’ll take Rex over you any day, Master.” 

Before he can retaliate, his comm link blinks awake, Jesse’s voice filtering through. “ _General_ ,” he sounds out of breath, static making him harder to understand. And Anakin can understand, he knows how much of an unexpected workout an air battle can be, “ _urgent incoming transmission from Coruscant_.”

“Finally _,”_ he groans, raising his voice so the troopers around him can hear, hopes one of them will mention this particular comment to Obi-Wan just so he can witness his master’s mild outrage. “Obi-Wan certainly isn’t as punctual as he used to be. Guess that’s what old age does to you.”

Ahsoka snickers into his side, tinkering with her sabers.

“ _Ah_ – “ Jesse’s voice crackles, squashing his hope like a candle against a rainstorm, “ _Not quite, General. The call’s coming from the Senate_.”

Anakin frowns. Senate calls on the front were highly unusual. If there was a change in position or tactic, usually the Senate contacted the Council and left the delegating up to them. “The Senate? Are we being rotated out?”

“ _Sir_ ,” A distant explosion rocks through the waves under Anakin, too close for comfort. Jesse’s voice is drowned out for a second. “ _\- not authorized to the details sir, but I’m being told it’s urgent -_ ”

“Incoming _,”_ Rex yells up ahead. The troopers around him scramble for their weapons as a spray of blaster fire erupts up ahead. Anakin pulls a grumbling Ahsoka into the cliff side to his right for cover as he ignites his saber.

“Get down,” he hisses at her, “we don’t know how many there are. I’ll go – “

“I’m coming too,” Ahsoka insists fiercely, bouncing on her heels. Her lightsabers are powered up, twirling in her grip. Always looking for a fight, his Padawan is.

The bridge they’re on tilts ominously, a new blast from a grenade to their left rippling through the air and unsteadying their footing. Anakin throws Ahsoka a withering look. “Get across, _now,_ ” he commands, using the force to steady the bridge as the troopers behind him thunder past to the next set of rocky cliffs. Falling was a death sentence right now and they absolutely wouldn’t lose men that way. Not on Anakin’s watch. He shoves Ahsoka forward in the direction of the running troopers and she stumbles in surprise. “You too, Snips!”

“- _Sir –_ “

Anakin swears under his breath, “It’ll have to wait, Jesse,” he grits, another spray of fire sweeping near their position. This time, his men counter, and he knows that the skirmish has officially begun, hopes to every force-deity that Rex has managed to get all the men in place ahead of schedule. He gathers the force around him like a cloak, lets it open and guide his senses in the battle that’s about to come.

“ _General, this can’t wait!”_

Ahsoka parries a shot fired at them and Anakin looks between her and the rest of his men. Two of the fighters have taken off, already gunning at the sea-faring droid ships below. “For kriff’s sake,” he snarls, “Ahsoka, I want you in the air _now_ – and make sure to take Jesse’s blasted transmission.”

Ahsoka opens her mouth, to argue most likely, if Anakin knows her at all, but he fixes her with a look that leaves no room for argument. “I said _now,_ Snips.”

Jesse’s voice cracks through again, more urgent than ever. _“- General, please. The call’s encrypted or else I would’ve taken it myself – “_

“Ahsoka’s taking it,” Anakin interrupts, covering Ahsoka as she nods and does what she’s told for once, dashing for her fighter. “She’ll be clear in a minute, Jesse.”

“ _Thank you, General.”_

Anakin rolls his eyes, drawing more blaster fire towards him and away from his men, “This better be important.”

_“I have a bad feeling it is, sir.”_

**. . . .**

Ahsoka doesn’t get a chance to land until the 501st have cleared the fourth wave of droids. There’s a respite now, a lull between the fighting, and Anakin sends a squad to scout the enemy’s next move. If he listens hard enough, he can hear the air battle still screaming vaguely in the background, the hard crash of cannons and squelch of metal.

Rex updates him to let him know that Jesse said it was going well, that they’d have the skies clear without the 212th in just a few hours. Most of the trouble seemed to be planet-side, where the seafaring droids held a huge advantage over his men, trapped on quivering bridges and unsteady ground above an ocean of acid. He can’t wait until the men in the air can join them on the surface. Anakin’s hoping they can create small strike teams to nimbly lure the droids out and into whatever electrical death trap Rex has the men building.

Ahsoka’s fighter screeches overhead and Anakin knows he’s going to have to take a look at that engine sooner or later. He watches she lands carefully, a hand over his face to block out the afternoon sunlight. The rain was letting up, an uncomfortable, damp heat settling in its wake. Half of his men had stripped off their heavier armor, laying out their rain slicks to dry against the cliffs in the relative peace.

Anakin steps forward to the foot of Ahsoka’s starship and squints up at her, “Nice flying out there, Snips. Of course I could’ve done – “

The taunt dies on Anakin’s lips as he takes in her expression. Ahsoka’s face is unreadable as she climbs out, the hiss of the cockpit opening the only sound between them for a moment.

“Snips? What’s wrong?”

Ahsoka stands in front of him, eyes weary. “The transmission,” she says haltingly, “It was – ” She hesitates, gaze roving over Anakin like she’s sizing him up somehow.

Anakin blinks. He’d forgotten all about it in the heat of the battle. “The one Jesse was talking about?”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka replies. Her words are slow, disbelieving, like she’s confused about them. “I’m – I’m being reassigned to Coruscant, effective immediately.”

“What?” Anakin frowns, not following, not understanding, “Why now? The men need us. If we leave, we’ll lose the planet.”

Ahsoka looks more uncomfortable than ever, but her eyes hold a desperate sense of panic that Anakin knows she’s working hard to hold back. “I – not you. Just me.” She looks up at Anakin and suddenly, he can read her like a book. She looks small, young, _afraid_ and her fear grips him as well.

“Who was on the call, Snips?”

“I’m not supposed to say,” she whispers, then looks around as if someone would overhear her, lowering her voice, “But – it was Senator Amidala. She’s been trying to reach you all morning, but couldn’t get a signal to your personal comm. She wanted to – to tell us what happened because the Council doesn’t want you to know. Not right now anyway. They think you’ll panic if you find out and – “

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down,” Anakin places his hands on her shoulders, more so to ground himself than her. The Council not wanting him to know something is nothing new, but telling Ahsoka and leaving him in the dark is a new level of betrayal that he’ll probably need to stew over in the darkness of his tent later. “Is Padme alright?”

Ahsoka nods quickly, the motion jerky, “She’s fine, she was calling in to warn us before the Council commed us – well commed me. They don’t – “

“ – want me to know, yeah.” Anakin snaps, letting out a deep rush of air. He forces himself to focus, to sink his anger into the force, “What’s going on, Snips?”

Ahsoka’s eyes are flitting between his, her montrals twitching and trembling. The force around her settles like a rock sinking into a still pond and Anakin knows this can’t be anything good. “I – ,” she hesitates, fear and distress rolling off of her in waves. It’s a far-cry from her normally easy-going, cool presence, “It’s Master Kenobi. He - ” The rest of the sentence dies on her trembling lip.

White, hot fear pulses through Anakin for a moment, blood thundering in his ears, pulse pounding in his throat. He resists the urge to shake the details out of Ahsoka. Obi-Wan had been due on Cato Neimodia for a few rotations now. He was supposed to arrive with Anakin, but the Council had granted him two rotations of leave after his stunt on Mandalore. Anakin doesn’t know all the details of what happened, but Obi-Wan had gone straight to his quarters after his return. He hadn’t spoken for hours, face taught and strained.

It’s only later, when the holonet started reporting on Duchess Satine’s death that he’d understood.

“Is he hurt?” Anakin gets out, the lump in his throat building, “Snips, is Obi-Wan hurt?” He won’t be able to bear it if he is, Anakin thinks wildly, he won’t survive it. Not again. Not after the Rako Hardeen fiasco that left their bond in tatters and drove a wedge between them so wide that Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes for weeks.

But Ahsoka’s shaking her head, although her expression doesn’t lighten in the slightest. Anakin feels something cold settling in his stomach, because if Obi-Wan wasn’t hurt, if he was _okay_ and Ahsoka was still –

“What happened,” he pleads, “Ahsoka, _please,_ for force-sake _– “_

“Master Kenobi has been accused of being the mastermind of a recent bombing at the Jedi temple,” Ahsoka says very quietly. She’s looking at Anakin’s feet, like she can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “During his trial – “

“ _What_?” Anakin bursts. Ahsoka shoots him a pointed look and he remembers the eyes of his men on them. He struggles to lower his voice. “That’s _ridiculous_ and you know it,” he hisses. “Obi-Wan would _never_ do something like that. Surely the Council is working on putting a stop to these rumors.”

“Master,” The pain in Ahsoka’s voice is palpable, “The Senate has already found him guilty. His execution is scheduled for next week.”

The bridges connected to their little piece of land begin to shake. Anakin can hear his troops shouting warnings as they scramble away from them onto higher ground. Dimly, Anakin knows he needs to control himself, can see Ahoska flinching away from the sheer desperation coloring the force around him.

“The Council doesn’t agree of course, so they’re reassigning me to investigate,” Ahsoka continues, like Anakin might not bring down the mountain around them. She places a hand on his shoulder, stroking a thumb back and forth in a soothing motion. “Master Windu says I need to go and find out who really did it, so Master Kenobi isn’t,“ she swallows, “you know - _killed_.”

“I’m coming,” Anakin tells her immediately, “I need to speak to Obi-Wan. They can’t do this to him. Maybe I can talk to the Chancellor – or Padme – I’m sure Padme would help us.”

“You can’t,” Ahsoka says miserably, “The Council thinks that if you’re involved, any investigation the Jedi conduct could look biased. And Padme’s already doing everything she can, she sent in an appeal for the decision and agreed to represent his defense.”

“I need,” Anakin repeats, steel edging his voice, “to speak to Obi-Wan.”

Ahsoka looks at him carefully, stepping back towards her ship and breaking free of his grasp. “I’m going to get going now, Anakin,” she tells him, like a master warning a youngling, “I need to help Master Kenobi.”

Anakin looks away, the black tide of helplessness, misery, and anger swallowing him. But, Ahsoka calls him back to shore, “Master,” she pleads, “ _Please_ don’t do anything rash. I’ll do everything I can, Master Kenobi will be fine, I promise. But you have to act carefully.”

The warning is clear: don’t do anything stupid. If he did, Obi-Wan would die.

Anakin forces himself to nod, despite the force screaming in his very being, as Ahsoka takes off for the second time in the day. He can see the staunch determination in her young face and acknowledges that his padawan is far better under pressure than he is. She’s going to be ready for the trials soon, even though Anakin doesn’t know if he can bear to let her go.

He scrubs a hand through his damp hair, ducking around the far face of the cliff, and punches in Obi-Wan’s private comm channel. When that doesn’t work, he hesitates for only a moment, before he’s dialing Windu.

**. . . .**

_Five minutes, Skywalker. That’s all we can give you. And remember, as Padawan Tano should have remembered, we need you to stay out of this._

Anakin holds his breath as Obi-Wan answers on the second ring of the holocall, his expression blank. When he notices that it’s Anakin on the other side and not Mace Windu, his face goes slack with surprise before the serene blankness returns. Anakin hates it when Obi-Wan looks wooden and inanimate like that, it’s almost never a good sign.

The first thing he notes is that Obi-Wan is in a cell. The rayshield behind him is blurred by the holocall, but Anakin has seen enough of them in the war to know one when he sees it.

“Master,” he greets, nodding with all the respect he can muster. His eyes sting immediately because for all that Anakin has done, all the trouble he’s gotten into, Obi-Wan has always, _always_ been there. If not by his side, he’s been here – in the world, in the galaxy – a comm or tug away. Anakin can’t imagine a life without him.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs in reply, “I thought they wouldn’t tell you until all of this was over.”

“Ahsoka told me.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan folds his hands in his robes, but Anakin can see the way he’s trembling. Even through the blue of the projector, Obi-Wan looks tired, like he hasn’t been sleeping. “Clearly a poor oversite by the Council.”

Anakin swallows, “Why didn’t you call me? I could have helped.” He can’t keep the accusation out of his voice, the hot lick of fury of not being trusted to help, not being worth a simple holocall, rears its ugly head. Anakin tries to stamp it out, but it only spreads.

“No, Anakin, you know I couldn’t do that.” Obi-Wan shakes his head, “This matter requires utmost care and we can’t have you – “

“Have me _what_?” Anakin narrows his eyes, “Offer to break you out? Clear your name? Help my master like any padawan would want to?”

“Introduce a biased opinion,” Obi-Wan clarifies. His voice is steady, but his appearance isn’t as immaculate as it always is, hair just a little mussed, robes not pressed as crisp as usual. Still, Anakin thinks he’s never seen anyone more beautiful. Not in the traditional way most see beauty, but in the clear blue calmness of his eyes, the way his mouth lifts higher on one side than the other, the curl of his fingers against his chin.

Anakin swallows his bitterness, “So that’s it? After everything, after – _Rako Hardeen – “_

“This is hardly the same thing,” Obi-Wan interjects immediately, and Anakin relishes the note of outrage in his tone. He’s managed to touch a nerve then. _Good_. “When will you understand, Anakin? All is as the force wills it. Whether you – ”

“I still deserved to _know_ ,” Anakin wills himself not to cry. He’s on the _front_ for force-sake, with men that look up to him and take his orders. “You could have told me. You don’t get to do everything on your own then turn around and be upset with me when I do the same.”

Obi-Wan deflates, shoulders dropping. “It’s my job to take care of you, Padawan, not the other way around.”

“I am no longer your Padawan,” Anakin points out. “I’m a Knight, your equal, and I thought – I thought you trusted me enough to at least tell me when you’ve been sentenced to death.”

“It’s not about trust, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sounds frustrated, “The Council feels that if you were to be involved, any chance that I might have of actually walking free would be eliminated. We need an opinion that will seem believable to the public. Ahsoka can handle this, Anakin, you know she can.”

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Anakin laughs incredulously. It’s not a happy sound. “This isn’t about the kriffing Council. It’s about _you_ and _me_ and how you always have to put the wishes of the Council above all else, sometimes even common sense.”

Obi-Wan blinks at him. He cocks his head, almost bemused, and Anakin _seethes._ “I am a member of the Jedi Council, Anakin. My responsibility to them comes above all else. “

“Above me.”

It’s a statement, flat. Anakin sees the way Obi-Wan flinches and wishes he was closer so he could feel Obi-Wan’s anguish flood through what remained of their bond.

They used to have this conversation often, Obi-Wan lecturing him about attachment with a warm hand around his shoulders, telling Anakin to release his emotions into the force as they were curled together during meditations, scolding Anakin when he used to look at Padme while they were intertwined on Obi-Wan’s couch watching holodramas. Sometimes, the sentiment felt like an inside joke, something that Obi-Wan had to tell Anakin before he was gifted with another charmed smile.

This exchange, however, lacks all of their usual warmth. There is no sarcastic banter here, only thunderclaps of words and brittle accusations. Obi-Wan drops his gaze and Anakin knows he’s broken him.

“It’s fine,” Anakin clears his throat. He can’t see anymore and he knows that if he blinks, the tears will overflow and he viciously tells himself he won’t give Obi-Wan the satisfaction of seeing him cry. He won’t burden Obi-Wan with his attachments, his feelings - not when Obi-Wan keeps himself as guarded as he does. “It’s not like this is something I don’t already know.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth, as if to speak, but no words come forth. Anakin lets the silence stretch, wants Obi-Wan to feel uncomfortable, to be at a loss for words, just this once. The famous Negotiator speechless.

“I don’t want to fight,” Obi-Wan tells him finally, his voice quiet. “Especially not now, dear one.”

And the fear is back, thick and tight in the way it constricts Anakin’s lungs. He’s choking on it, drowning in it. “Ahsoka will clear your name, Master. Have faith in her, if not me.” It sounds like he’s reassuring himself.

Obi-Wan looks back up at him, distinctly hurt, “Anakin, I have an equal amount of faith in both of you. You two are the lights of my life.”

Anakin blinks, feels the tears finally fight their way down his cheeks. Obi-Wan looks alarmed at the sight, a hand reaching out through the call as if he could place it on Anakin’s shoulder. For a moment, Anakin forgets that he’s angry, pitching his body forward a hairsbreadth closer to his master’s phantom warmth.

“You need to focus, Anakin,” Obi-Wan tells him thickly. An emotion flashes across his face, but it’s gone too quickly for Anakin to read it. His words, however, are jarring, and they bring Anakin out of his moment of weakness. “You’re on the frontlines and I don’t want you to get hurt. Your men – “

“I know my duty without you reminding me every chance you have,” he spits, Obi-Wan’s poor attempt at reassurance driving his temper, “I’ve fought in this sith-forsaken war just as long as you have.” Anakin takes a step back. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. Go worry about the Council or something. I’ll make sure to stay out of your way.”

“Anakin,” Obi-wan pleads, voice as miserable as they both were at the moment. 

“Enough,” Anakin turns away, closing himself off, “Windu said we had five minutes. You’d better cut the call before he’s upset.” This might be the last time, he thinks then, sheer panic pressing down around him, the very _last_ time that – but, no, Ahsoka will do well, she always has. Anakin believes in her, would trust her with anything.

“My dear,” Obi-Wan whispers then.

Something hot scorches down Anakin’s spine, pooling in his belly.

“I just want you to know – I – ,” Obi-Wan must see the ice in Anakin’s expression, because he swallows back whatever he was going to say. “I’m sorry. I won’t burden you any longer. Goodbye, Anakin.”

Anakin shoves down the shame he’s projecting and wordlessly ends the call.

**. . . .**

As he’d predicted, Cato Neimodia ends up being a doozy.

The air battle ends by nightfall on their first rotation, but the planet-side fight slogs on for two weeks. During that time, Anakin keeps his head down and mind full of battle strategies and troop rotations. Rex looks like he wants to tell him off sometimes, but he must think better of it because Anakin never hears a word of opposition. Only an enthusiastic _we’ve got this under control, General, go get some rest._

He’s not sure what he looks like, but there must be a brittleness to his appearance now. The troops are quieter around him, solemn. Obi-Wan’s arrest had been all over the holonet the last time they’d managed to make a connection. Anakin pointedly turns off the holonet link on his datapad. He keeps it off, even when the 212th are brought in to reinforce their position. Cody has no news for him, but he looks as worried as everyone does these days.

It’s been too long, Anakin thinks then, gritting his teeth against the sharp ebb of hurt, far too long since there’s been an update. He can only hope that it’s a good thing, that a decision is in the making, a verdict is being overturned. When he does manage to get an hour or so of sleep, thoughts of Obi-Wan’s arms around him, triumph and reassurance running between them, overwhelm his dreams and he wakes choking on a fantasy.

Finally, it’s Padme that comms him after a particularly grueling fight. He’s sitting on his narrow cot, rain pelting the plastic of the tent in a steady drum. His tunic is drenched in the light acid that seems to cover the planet, clinging to him and burning at the cuffs of his wrists and ankles. When he answers, the sight of her face undoes him entirely and Anakin inexplicably finds himself sobbing as she watches, stricken.

“Ani,” she whispers, “You need to rest. You can’t go on like this.”

And what a sight he must be, in battle singed scraps next to her elegant, senatorial robes.

Anakin’s not sure how she can muster up the kind words right now. If anyone would know how Anakin feels about Obi-Wan, it’s Padme. Anakin’s embarrassed himself drunk enough times in her apartment after dinners for her to have collected enough blackmail material to last a lifetime. He desperately wishes for her company now, the ease of her friendship. Padme never asks him of anything, never expects anything. She is simply content with his presence as he is with hers, relationship comforted by the years passed between them.

Now, he can’t even bring himself to respond.

“Ani,” she says again, “I’m _so_ sorry, Ani. We all tried to talk to Obi-Wan. Ahsoka threatened him to – ”

And – _what?_

“What’re you talking about?” he manages to ask, breath baited. His tears are salty where they catch in his mouth. A long moment passes and Anakin struggles to bring himself a modicum of sanity.

“I thought you already knew,” Padme’s voice is crackling. His transmitters haven’t been doing well in the rain. “Obi-Wan was cleared. Ahsoka sliced Temple access records and was able to prove an alibi.”

The admission cuts deep, even though Padme had clearly meant well. “I didn’t know,” he admits quietly. Nobody had contacted him other than Cody who was as low on the food-chain for information as Anakin was.

A wrinkle forms between Padme’s brows, something terrible seems to be slowly dawning on her. “I just talked to Ahsoka,” she says, “and she said that she wanted Obi-Wan to break the news to you. She figured you two had a lot to talk about and wanted to give you space to deal with – with the changes.”

“What _changes_?”

“Oh, Ani,” Padme brings a hand up to cover her mouth in shock, “Obi-Wan really hasn’t spoken to you?”

“No,” Anakin says slowly, and it feels like he’s not in on something, like he’s missing a very important piece of information. The force rolls around him, mocking, jeering. “I haven’t heard from him since he was still in custody.”

“Anakin,” Padme says very slowly, like she’s talking to a wounded animal. Anakin flinches back at the tone of her voice. Padme’s tone is too steady, it’s her negotiation voice. This couldn’t be anything good. But Obi-Wan was cleared wasn’t he? Anakin had kept his head down like he was told for once, and it had paid off. Obi-Wan was free. “Obi-Wan was cleared of all charges,” Padme continues, “but by mandate of the Senate, he was deemed a risk. He – he’s not allowed to return to the Jedi Order. He was asked to forfeit his lightsaber and rank the night after the hearing.”

“No.” Anakin shakes his head, “No.”

“I’m sorry, Ani,” Padme’s voice is exceedingly soft.

“ _No.”_

His gaze desperately jumps between Padme’s eyes, over her face, the sorrowful curl of her mouth, searching, prodding, _pleading_ for this whole thing to be a terrible practical joke. His hands are shaking, dried tears still crusted to his cheeks. “Where is Obi-Wan, Padme?”

Padme looks wounded. “I – We thought you two already spoke,” she wrings her hands, “Ahsoka’s been waiting for your call for _days,_ she didn’t want to push you. She’s been so worried about – about how you’ve been taking it. I’ll call her right now and tell her that you – _kriff,_ that you didn’t even _know_. She’ll be – “

“Where,” he bites out, again, “is Obi-Wan?”

A long beat of silence follows his question.

“Obi-Wan is gone, Anakin,” Padme says finally. Her voice is soft, absolutely drenched in guilt. “He refused to say where he was going, only that he wanted to be left alone for the time being.”

“He’s – gone?” Anakin swallows. Then an absurd thought, one that hurts more than it should, “But he didn’t say goodbye.” The _I didn’t say goodbye_ haunts him, a reminder of their last holocall.

“He looked – so _sad_ ,” Padme tells him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. “It didn’t look like he wanted to leave, Ani.”

“He never told me, Padme.” Anakin replies, voice wretched. He hangs his head, shivering, “He never even called.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof Anakin is hard to write.
> 
> This is some of the most self-indulgent bullshit I've written, hopefully it's an interesting enough premise (if not things pick up pretty quickly starting in the next chapter and hopefully it becomes more exciting). Thank you for reading! 🥰
> 
> (Come find me on Tumblr if you'd like to talk or leave me prompts - I'm unfortunate17 on there too!)


	2. Chapter 2

The morning of Ahsoka’s Knighting Ceremony is clear and cool. Crisp Coruscanti air bringing in the scent of turning leaves, winter cold creeping on them slowly but surely. The draft is strong enough to be felt all the way through the halls of the Temple and Anakin shivers, chilled in his robes from where he stands.

The Hall of Knighthood is as dark as usual, lit only by the lightsabers of the Masters of the Council. Anakin stands in the middle, Ahsoka knelt by his feet as he slowly brings his saber to her right shoulder then left. Ahsoka’s looking up at him, eyes shining with emotion, and Anakin feels a burst of pride so strong it nearly knocks him off his feet.

Ahsoka is the one thing in his life that Anakin hasn’t managed to botch, the one person who stands by his side on and off the battlefield. An apprentice, a friend, a sister.

Once, only a few months ago, Anakin would have said there was another, but it was nothing more than a distant memory now. He didn’t think of how there was a brilliant blue saber missing from the room. He didn’t think of how Ahsoka had once asked him if she could give Obi-Wan her braid so that it could be stored in his chest, laid alongside Anakin’s own. He simply didn’t – _couldn’t_. The pain was too strong to bear, even now Anakin can feel the sorrow ringing in the hollows of his jaw, his temples.

From the corner of his eyes, Anakin sees Mace Windu watching him, his dark eyes unreadable as ever. His kindness had been unexpected, and at first unwelcome, in the few weeks after Anakin had returned from Cato Neimodia. Now, Anakin can see the irony. A master who’d lost his padawan and a padawan who had lost his master, both with the painful knowledge that the one they sought was just out of their reach. Death would be more merciful.

Ahsoka stands then, and Anakin reaches around to pull her Silka beads free from her montrals. He hesitates, and despite his need not to, holds them out to her in offering. But, Ahsoka only smiles and closes his fist around the beads with deft fingers.

_It’s yours._

Anakin swallows, beads clenched in his fist so tight, he knows they’ll probably leave an imprint. He brings his free arm around her and pulls her close. This is definitely not part of the Knighting, but he thinks he sees Plo Koon shed a happy tear, so he’s not too fussed that he’s done the wrong thing. Nothing about Ahsoka’s trials or Knighting has been traditional, so what’s simply another exception.

“Rise, Ahsoka Tano,” Yoda declares from the head of the circle as though Ahsoka’s not already standing, gripped in an embrace Anakin has thrust upon her, “A Knight of the Jedi Order, you are.”

Anakin can feel the sheer pride-love-gratitude Ahsoka’s pushing across their bond, happiness making the sensations fuller and brighter. Anakin hasn’t seen her so brimming with light in months and it warms him, allows him to lean his load of grief against her pillar of strength for a moment. She makes his days better, his burdens lighter, the air in his lungs sweeter.

_You’re such a sap Master._

The tender moment is broken by a sniffle and Anakin’s head whips around to find Master Plo powering off his lightsaber, rubbing just below the metal that covered his eyes. Anakin wonders fleetingly if the mask allows tears to escape, not that he can imagine anyone on the Council crying. “Congratulations, little ‘Soka.”

The words cause emotion to build up in his throat as well and he crushes Ahsoka closer to him. In reaction, her shoulders shake in silent laughter, amusement deepening in the force. “Thank you, Master Plo.”

Mace Windu shoots Plo a wry look that is pointedly ignored. Kit Fisto guffaws into his fist, clearing his throat in an attempt at a modicum of decency.

“Alas, they always grow up too quickly,” Master Plo laments. He shoots Ahsoka a wavering smile, voice thick, “I wish you could’ve stayed a young one forever, little ‘Soka.”

**. . . .**

“You must respect his decision Anakin. As hard as it is, we need to trust Obi-Wan right now.”

Anakin recoils. The irritation in Padme’s voice is almost a physical thing, he feels it in the blood that fills his cheeks, the painful tug at his heart. He’s spent nights in the Temple garden, where Obi-Wan so loved to meditate, attempting to cross the parsecs that separated them and reach out to his master. The bond is ripped and tattered, a painful stump of a thing that Anakin can’t bear to maneuver around. It pulses with pain when he tries to use it.

Somehow, he’d always thought that everything was going to be alright someday. That Obi-Wan would be cleared, that the bond would reignite with warmth and trust and _love_. And with Ahsoka at their side, they would finally end this blasted war and usher in an era where they could think beyond just survival.

Maybe Anakin would grow wings and learn to fly too.

Padme’s still looking at him though, fingers tapping nervously where they’re curled against her elbows. The hangar around them is alive with the movement of troops, fighters refueling and resupplying. He faintly recognizes Jesse and Kix stuffing ration bars into their packs, heads thrown back in joint laughter.

“Anakin?”

He blinks back down at Padme. Her robes are a deep plum today, offsetting the gold she has braided through her hair. Anakin tugs at the plain linen of his sleeves, “I thought you came to say goodbye, not lecture me to death.”

She waves him off immediately. “You’ve been walking around as if someone’s kicked your loth kitten for months.” Her voice does get softer, however, and Padme places a hand on his shoulder, “Are you going to be okay?”

Anakin swallows, “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, “I’ll be fine. I’ve been on plenty of missions, what’s another one?” And he has. Him, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka have been to every nook of the galaxy, from Mon Calamari to Ryloth. This mission is technically no different – another day, another planet. Anakin will be going to Ringo Vinda, but from now on, he will be alone.

Ahsoka’s a Knight now, and as a Knight’s duty details, she has been given command of the 212th. With Cody’s guidance, she’s currently undertaking a surveillance mission on Phindar, right off of the Hydian Way. As far as wartime first missions go, Anakin knows she could’ve been given a lot worse. Windu himself had personally assigned Ahsoka and while she hadn’t exactly been thrilled, calling the mission boring, Anakin had been secretly relieved.

 _If I end up on her warpath Skywalker, I’m telling her it was all your fault as usual,_ Mace had hissed at him when Ahsoka was done complaining. Anakin thinks that if Windu keeps up the pleasantries, he might actually send the man star flowers from Naboo.

“This is different and you know it.” Padme studies his face, “Are you worried about Ahsoka?”

Anakin shakes his head, “You know I always am, but she’s with Cody. I know he’ll take care of her. It’s just – ” the Code rings in his ears even though he can’t help but continue, “Ahsoka belongs with _me_. Just like Obi-Wan does. He’s more of a Jedi than I am for force-sake, and the Council had no right to turn their back on him. Not when he was always so loyal to them.”

“Ani, _please_ – ,” suddenly, Padme glances over his shoulder, her expression flattening. “Oh _kriff,”_ she mutters, rolling her eyes, “don’t look now, but – ”

“Anakin, my boy!”

Anakin perks up, turning to grin at the elderly man hobbling towards them in elegant attire. The clones stand at attention immediately, saluting. It’s not every day that the Supreme Chancellor makes his out of the Senate building all the way down to the Temple hangars.

“Your excellency,” he greets, bowing. He feels Padme do the same at his side.

As always, Palpatine urges them up, laughing, “None of that now, Anakin. You are simply an old friend.” He nods at Padme, “Senator Amidala. Saying goodbye to Master Skywalker, I presume?”

Padme flushes, “Yes, of course. I just wanted to make sure Anakin was alright.”

Palpatine turns to him then, his expression solemn. “Oh dear me, how could I possibly forget? Are you doing alright, Anakin? Anything you need?”

“No, sir,” Anakin shakes his head, “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be all right.”

“Your master’s departure was very sudden indeed,” Palpatine closes his eyes, pained, “The Republic lost a great Jedi and a brilliant tactician. But of course, our loss pales in comparison your own. Hopefully you two have made peace by now? I’m sure Master – er do we still call him Master? –,” Palpatine huffs a laugh, spreading his palms and shrugging, “Obi-Wan wishes you well.”

Anakin feels the beginnings of irritation simmering through his shields.

“Ah – ,” Padme hastens, looking between the two men with wide eyes, “Yes. Anakin is doing much better now – “

“There is no peace. Obi-Wan left without even saying goodbye,” he scowls, old anger rearing its ugly head. He flashes his eyes at Padme, daring her to contradict. “I didn’t even know he’d been accused of the bombing until Ahsoka told me. The Council, of course, didn’t even want me to know in the first place.” Anakin bites back the acidic twang of resentment, “And Obi-Wan would fall on his saber if the Council commanded it.”

Palpatine sighs deeply and pats Anakin on the back. His hand remains there for a moment, gentle and supportive, “I know this hurts, my boy, but you’ll see that you’re going to be stronger for it. Maybe you just haven’t realized it, but you might be better off without your old Master. Speaking of such, I could put in a word for you to take his place as High General if you so wished. You’ve more than earned the right.”

Padme’s smile is genuine at the thought, amused. She reaches up to grip Anakin’s elbow. Palpatine’s gaze returns to her as if she were simply an afterthought. “With all due respect, your excellency, Anakin has the tactical mind of a nerf. He’s much more of an act now, think later, type of Jedi.”

“Ah,” Palpatine’s eyes twinkle. He looks conspiratorial, like Anakin’s recklessness brought him great delight. Obi-Wan had never looked at him like that, his gaze always serious and worried. The thought brings Anakin a rush of affection for the old Chancellor. “A man of action, I see. Well, they’ll need that fire on Ringo Vinda. I hear the Jedi Master twins are nearly overwhelmed.”

“They’ll be alright,” Anakin asserts, determined, “I ship out in a few hours. I’m sure me and my men can help turn the tide.”

“Good,” The chancellor smiles at him and Anakin can’t help but smile back, “I have absolutely no doubt in your abilities, my boy. I know you’ll make the Republic proud.”

Hours later, his last sight before the docking ramp closes is Padme. She looks melancholic, beautifully out of place in the surrounding machinery and durasteel. Anakin nods a final goodbye.

 _Be careful,_ she mouths back, eyes dark and worried.

**. . . .**

Ringo Vinda brings Anakin a taste of death that he’d been unprepared for. He watches helplessly as, what appears to be a textbook battle, breaks down in front of his very eyes, all ending in the grand finale of Tup shooting Master Tiplar in the face on the frontlines for all to see.

All at once, the droids are overwhelming, chaos and confusion scattering the 501st, destroying their momentum. Fives manages to get Tup under control as Anakin watches Tiplee desperately shake her twin’s lifeless body. Pleading for her to wake up when a simple glance in the force reveals the large, gaping wound she has left behind.

He’s not sure what to think, cold dread settling inside of him when Kix confirms to him that it looks like Tup is seriously disturbed and hadn’t actually meant to kill the general. Anakin wants to protect his men, doesn’t want Tup to end up decommissioned or court martialed like Dogma had been after Umbara, but he knows the Republic enjoys a good flex of power almost as much as the Separatists.

“I’ll contact the Council,” he says, ash in his mouth. “Maybe they’ll know what to do.” They won’t, but Anakin has no one else to turn to. His first inclination had been Obi-Wan, as it has been for years. But his master had left him. He hadn’t deemed Anakin a worthy enough reason to stand against the Order.

Kix’s brows knit together in worry, “Sir, if the Senate hears about this, the consequences for us could be serious.”

“I know,” Anakin gestures him out of the medbay, towards the communications room, “That’s why I’m going to have you give them your medical report on Tup first. Whatever this is, I don’t want it to spread to the rest of the men. And I want Tup to be treated.”

“Yes, sir,” Kix steels himself. Anakin pats his shoulder and notes that Kix looks exhausted, though determined. Although, Anakin’s probably not the one to be telling others off about getting more rest. The bone deep fatigue of grief since Obi-Wan’s departure hasn’t lightened in the least, but Anakin is learning to live with it. To compartmentalize and survive even when nights bleed into mornings without a moment’s respite.

Ahsoka and Padme, of course, could see right through him. Once Ahsoka had caught him in the middle of the night, pillow and blanket in hand, guilt smeared on his face as he stood outside of Obi-Wan’s Temple quarters. He’d tried to joke, told her that her snoring was keeping him up, but the look on Ahsoka’s face had been so pained, so hurt, that Anakin had slumped, allowing her to pull him back to his own bed.

Anakin rubs his temples against an oncoming ache as Kix fires up the holoprojector. When the image flickers to life, the Council seats are half empty and Windu looks at him like Anakin is an irritating youngling. At least some thing never changed.

He lets Kix take the lead, explain the situation. Anakin didn’t usually do much talking during debriefs, normally Obi-Wan smiled at him and pushed him towards his quarters. _I can take care of the reports, dear one, please get some sleep before you fall over._

When Kix is finished, there is silence across the holocall. Windu’s brow is pinched.

“Bring the trooper back into Republic space,” Master Mundi tells him. “This news is deeply troubling. It could be a Separatist plot that might affect the other men. We will need to look into this immediately and have your troops quarantined. Time is of the essence, Knight Skywalker.”

“But what about Ringo Vinda?” Anakin protests.

Windu’s brow remains furrowed. He steeps his fingers together and sighs heavily, “We’ve had too many losses there in too short of a time. I think it’s time to pull out, use this opportunity to rethink our strategy. Bring Master Tiplee and her forces with you when you return.”

Anakin hesitates, but manages to bring himself to nod. “Yes Masters,” he says and the transmission ends as abruptly as it had begun.

Kix looks relieved at his side. When Anakin cocks a brow at him, he huffs a faint laugh, “The battle hasn’t been easy, General. It’ll be good to get the wounded back to safety.”

Anakin smiles, squeezing his shoulder as he turns to leave. “You’re a good man, Kix. Thank you.”

Kix grins back, he looks pleased with the praise, if not a little bashful. “Happy to be of service, General Skywalker.”

Anakin rolls his shoulder. His body always ached after battles. He sends Rex an evacuation order over their comm channel, still leaning against the door of the communications room and Kix returns to the medbay to round up the injured into a transport. Rex, to his credit, doesn’t seem phased by the sudden change of plans. It either speaks to his trust in Anakin, or that Rex is used to him changing his mind two dozen times during a single skirmish.

Obi-Wan would have laughed.

His comm beeps with an incoming holocall and Anakin frowns down at it. He’s parsecs away from the nearest Republic cruiser, can’t think of anyone out of range that would go to the trouble of contacting him, not after he’d just spoken to the council. The thought barely enters his mind, before a surge of hope electrifies every one of his nerve endings.

He stumbles in his haste, hissing the door shut behind him with a punch of the keypad, as he makes his way to the ship holoprojecter with baited breath. The connection is clearer here than it is through his wrist comm and he wants this call to be as free of static as possible. His fingers shake with repressed nerves as he plugs in his personal device to amplify the connection.

Anakin stands back, willing the call to connect faster, aching to hear a soft _hello, dear one_ like he needs air to kirffing _breathe_.

An image flickers to life. But then –

It’s Ahsoka.

He tries to keep the disappointment from marring his features. “Hey Snips.”

“Hi Master,” Ahsoka waves, _Master_ rolling off of her tongue as easily as it does for Anakin. Traditions are hard to break indeed. She’s crouching somewhere, under something, like she doesn’t want to be seen. “You know I was working on meditation into the Living Force?” She carefully leaves off the _with Master Kenobi_ and it makes Anakin’s hackles rise just a little. He doesn’t need to treated like he’s fragile.

“Yeah,” he nods uncomprehendingly. He narrows his eyes, perturbed, “You okay, Snips?”

Ahsoka rolls her eyes, “Why do you _always_ think I’m in trouble? I’m _fine_ Anakin – “

“Ahsoka, you go _looking_ for trouble.”

“– besides I called to tell you that I’m pretty sure I found Master Kenobi. Through the living force.”

Anakin stills. “What?” he asks, dumbfounded. All at once, the questions unstick from his throat, pouring out of him, “Where? _How_?”

“We kind of,” Ahsoka hesitates, like she’s mulling over her words for a minute, “share a training bond.”

Anakin pauses. He hadn’t been aware of such a bond and shamefully, it makes something sticky and possessive rise in him. Maybe he wouldn’t care so much if Obi-Wan and him still shared their bond.

Ahsoka continues hurriedly, “Like the one me and you have, except a lot weaker. It started forming when we were doing all those joint meditations and when he left, it closed off. But now – I’m not sure what triggered it. Maybe the proximity?”

“Proximity _?”_ Anakin’s mind turns over Ahsoka’s mission, “Snips – where. Where are you?”

“On Phindar where I’m supposed to be,” Ahsoka replies promptly. “Master Obi-Wan is on Bandomeer. I can feel it.”

Anakin jolts, his body moving without accord. He’s spent months trying to figure out where Obi-Wan had disappeared to and now that he knows, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with the knowledge. “Are you sure?”

Ahsoka nods, but now she seems troubled. “Yeah, Master. I’m positive.”

There’s a beat of silence and Anakin eyes his old Padawan critically. “Bandomeer? That’s an odd choice.” And it really is, a planet deep in Republic space, so close to Coruscant that Obi-Wan could practically jump to the Temple if he wanted. Not usually where one would go to disappear.

Ahsoka shrugs, “Beats me. But then again, if you want to hide, your choice can’t make sense.”

“Still,” Anakin insists, “ _Bandomeer?_ Aren’t there Jedi on Bandomeer?”

“No Jedi, but I think some of the AgriCorps initiates are.” Ahsoka hesitates again, “But – there’s something else. Something dark. It doesn’t feel like Master Kenobi’s in trouble, but it doesn’t feel like he’s safe either.”

“What do you mean?” Anakin demands at once, “What do you sense, Snips?” He wipes the sweat from his palms onto his tunic.

“It’s – hard to say,” Ahsoka admits, “I never finished my training. But something’s not right, that’s for sure. All I know is that Master Kenobi is on Bandomeer, but he’s not alone? He’s not in danger, I don’t think, but whoever is with him – they feel dark.”

Anakin gnaws at his lip, mind whirling. He knows he should stay put, has an important mission to complete on behalf of the Council. It’s time for Anakin to move on, to be a better Jedi, a Jedi that Obi-Wan would actually be proud of.

“I – I’m going to go find him,” he finds himself saying instead, “Obi-Wan’s unarmed, they took his lightsaber when he left. Whatever darkness that’s there, I’ll go get rid of it.”

Ahsoka looks deeply troubled. She pauses. “What if this is a trick?” Her voice sounds small now, afraid, “Or a trap of some kind. And I’m just helping you walk right into it?”

Anakin drops his shoulders in defeat and he wishes Ahsoka was by his side to reassure again. Truth be told, any trick or trap was already irrelevant and unimportant at this point. “I trust you, Snips. Besides, Bandomeer is deep in Republic space, if anything was wrong there, then I’m pretty sure the Council would know.”

Ahsoka nods, but she doesn’t look convinced.

“Look,” Anakin tries, “I – I’ll just make sure Obi-Wan is okay, then I’ll leave.” He tries to twist his mouth against the sudden urge to cry. “I won’t bother him if he wants to be left alone.”

There’s another long moment of silence.

“I still can’t believe he left without saying anything,” Ahsoka whispers. Her voice cracks. “I mean he – he _loves_ you, he always said – “

“You got it all wrong, Snips,” Anakin smiles wryly, shakes his head to clear the sweet _my dear_ that haunts him from time to time, “I don’t think you know Obi-Wan at all.”

Ahsoka sizes him up, gaze defiant. “Or maybe you’re the one that doesn’t know him.”

Anakin snorts, clenching and unclenching his fists by his side. “If that’s all, you’d better stop hiding from Cody before he has a heart failure.”

Ahsoka sighs dramatically. “You’re probably right,” she sends him an easy, lopsided grin, “Between me and Master Kenobi, Cody swears he’s headed for an early grave.”

“Be good, Snips.”

Ahsoka laughs, head thrown back. Anakin can see Phindar’s sunlight glint off her montrals. “Alright, alright. I’m headed back.” She shoots him a look, “Don’t do anything stupid, Master.”

“Me?” Anakin puts a hand on his heart in mock horror, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

**. . . .**

At first, he can’t help but be distracted by the ocean.

Bandomeer is split nearly in half. The Great Sea covers an equal fraction of the surface as the dark, hard packed earth. It’s a vision in the viewport, makes Anakin catch his breath. He’s always surprised by the variety of planets in the galaxy, has to constantly remind himself that there are planets where there is no shortage of natural resources.

Mon Calamari had also been quite the surprise.

The ship he’s in is small, barely fit to serve a crew of six, but since Anakin is alone, it’s not too much of an issue. He’d told Master Tiplee that he’d received an urgent transmission from his former Padawan and that Ahsoka asked him to come to her aid. It wasn’t entirely a lie, besides Obi-Wan had taught him that the best deceptions were always based on half-truths.

Tiplee had given him a long look, but her shoulders had fallen eventually, the weight of loss blanketing her presence in the force. “Go,” she had said, “make sure your little one is safe.”

Anakin brings the ship down in a relatively unpopulated part of the surface, in a small clearing in a heavily wooded area. He makes sure the silencer is turned on, keeping away from the rolling plains and farmland that cover the rest of the planet. Even though the hour is late, he doesn’t want to risk anyone spotting him, especially since it looked like the planet was indeed home to the AgriCorps.

He doesn’t know much about the people that live here, only that they were once initiates and thus most likely had close ties to the Order. The last thing he wants is for Yoda, or sith-hells, _Windu_ , to call prematurely. He’s hoping the stunt he pulled with Tiplee would afford him a few rotations at least.

Sunset has long passed and Bandomeer has no moon, darkening the night completely. A light ocean breeze ruffles the ends of Anakin’s tunic as he lowers the docking ramp. It’s colder than he had expected, not that Anakin was very adept at handling the cold even after all his time in space. The wind makes him shiver, wish he could sneak around during the day when the sun would be out to warm the surface.

He forces himself ahead, eyes tracking the darkness for any surprise visitors. Once he reaches the edge of the clearing, he crouches, and observes the stillness of the sight before him. The only movement in the night is the sway of the crops in the wind. The heavens stretch out above him, stars littering the sky, twinkling far brighter than anything he’s seen on Coruscant or Tatooine. The faint sound of the ocean crashing against cliffs off to his left is the all that keeps him company.

Bandomeer’s plains seem to be broken up evenly. Every large section of farmland is dotted with small, uniform cabins, wooden in nature. The houses look to comfortable, warm, and lived in. Each is two stories with a stone chimney that rises up alongside one of the walls. Most are giving off faint puffs of smoke.

It’s beautiful, the kind of place that Anakin dreamed about when he was a child living in a hovel of sand with his mother. The sight of it makes his heart ache.

His eyes take a while to adjust to the inky darkness, but once they do, the planet doesn’t seem very desolate at all. The uniformity throws off his bearings and he struggles to remember the direction in which his ship is parked, but the further he walks along the trees, the more populated the planet becomes, an increasing number of cabins dotting the horizon.

The planet absolutely sings with the living force. Anakin can feel it in every step and every ocean-salted breath he takes. The crops are alight with it, practically growing before his eyes. The planet suddenly isn’t as dark as he had originally thought it was either, not with the way the force dances around him, slipping and sliding against his shields pleasantly. It pushes him along, hurrying his journey, a calm certainty that Anakin is headed the right way.

He’s not sure where he’s being led exactly, but hopes it’s not directly into Obi-Wan.

_Obi-Wan._

There’s no frontlines to distract him now, no battle, no blaster fire, no injured troopers. Just Anakin, a field of wheat-grass, and darkness. The sorrow he’s managed to keep at bay for the last few months returns with a vengeance, and Anakin allows it to flow through him and burn every neuron its path.

Obi-Wan had left him. He’d decided that Anakin wasn’t worth the trouble, wasn’t worth a good-bye, or an explanation, and turned his back on the Jedi Order, turned his back on _Anakin_. Not that he’d had much of a choice. From what Anakin’s heard, it was the Jedi that turned their back on Obi-Wan.

It’s –

Unthinkable. Obi-Wan was loyal to a fault, determined, a brilliant tactician. He was – _everything._ Everything that a Jedi was supposed to be and more. He’d been Anakin’s teacher, a friend, and Anakin had cheapened their relationship in his mind with fantasies that he hadn’t been able to shake. Not that Obi-Wan would ever even _look_ at him, even if he’d found Anakin naked and ready in his bed.

He had let Obi-Wan down in every single way that mattered. He distrusted the Council, let his emotions get the better of him, formed attachments at the turn of every corner, and never followed simple instructions. What could Obi-Wan possibly see in him?

Obi-Wan was a Jedi Master.

And Anakin was only a man. And not a very good one at that.

**. . . .**

“Who are you?”

Anakin closes his eyes, berating himself for his stupidity. “I’m – ” he pauses, unprepared. He hadn’t planned on getting caught, but it was difficult to pick out force signatures through the thickness of the living force that surrounded the planet. The blade in the back of his neck forces him against the tree he’d been hiding behind.

The large, glass building of the AgriCorps headquarters loomed ahead, desolate in the darkness. Around it were smaller buildings, equally industrial in manner. Anakin had been hoping to enter, see if there were ship logs, or any records of Obi-Wan.

“I’ll ask again, and this time, it will be the last,” the voice hisses in his ear, distinctly female. “ _Who_ are you?”

Anakin yelps when he feels the metal of the blade cut into the tender skin behind his neck. The weight of his saber is reassuring at his side, but he’s not here to fight, no matter how much he wants to disarm the poorly held weapon at his neck.

“I’m looking for someone,” he rushes out in lieu of an answer, “And I was hoping to get some help.”

The weapon at his neck wavers for a moment and Anakin is spun around, pushed back into the tree. Before him stands a young, female Devaronian, dark hair slicked back from the red skin of her face. Her eyes are narrowed in deep distrust, “At this hour?”

Anakin startles. The woman has a distinct Coruscanti accent, the same one that lilts Obi-Wan’s words. _I got it from the crèche master, dear one._ There’s no doubt who this woman is, where she’s from. Her knees are bent in a traditional dueling stance, her style of light robes distinctly familiar.

The force brushes by him with faint reassurance. He swallows, throws his faith, and hopes it lands on its feet. “You’re part of the AgriCorps, right? I – I’m a Jedi.” He shifts his weight, draws the woman’s attention to the lightsaber hanging at his side. “My name is Anakin Skywalker.”

The woman steps back, weapon dropping to her side though still tightly fisted. Her eyes are wary, flitting between the saber and Anakin’s face. “What business do you have here, Jedi?”

The way she practically spits _Jedi_ makes the hair on his arm stand at attention. “I’m looking for someone,” Anakin repeats, intentionally vague. A terrible thought occurs to him then – what if Obi-Wan hadn’t revealed himself to the AgriCorps members, what if he was really still in hiding in the woods, what if Anakin was blowing his master’s cover when he clearly didn’t want to be found?

“I see,” a painful twist of her mouth, “I’m assuming you seek Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Anakin nearly staggers under the weight of his sudden emotion. “Yes,” he says, voice hoarse, desperate. “Do you know where he is?”

The woman eyes him carefully. “My name is Sanya,” she says, straightening, “I’m head of the AgriCorps branch here on Bandomeer. Kenobi came to me a few months ago saying he had nowhere else to go. He’s an old friend, so I welcomed him.”

Anakin looks closer at Sanya, tries to think if there was ever a time Obi-Wan had mentioned her. Nothing is coming to his mind, her force presence wholly unfamiliar. “I’m sorry,” he offers up, “I knew Obi-Wan well but I’m afraid he never mentioned you.”

Sanya, to her credit, laughs, “Knowing Ben, that’s not much of a surprise.” Her eyes soften, “I’m glad he was able to put Bandomeer behind him, he was always much too talented to end up here.”

Anakin blinks, “Obi-Wan spent time on Bandomeer?”

“Yes,” Sanya eyes him critically, suddenly distrustful, “I thought you said you knew him well?”

“I was his Padawan,” he admits, “Not necessarily his friend.”

“Well, whoever you are, Ben doesn’t want to be found. He’s made that clear.”

Anakin presses the pads of his hands into his eyes lest he do something embarrassing. “Please,” he begs, “He’s my Master. I - I just want to make sure he’s alright. I won’t even speak to him if you’d like, I just need to see him.”

Sanya lifts an eyebrow coolly, “Well, you seem to lack the usual self-importance that plagues Jedi. Tell you what, Anakin Skywalker, I’ll humor you. Let me give you a place to stay tonight and in the morning, I’ll tell Ben you’re here. If he doesn’t want to see you, I’m sure he’s more than capable of getting rid of you.”

“No,” Anakin says quickly, “You don’t have to tell him I’m here.”

“I don’t have to,” Sanya shrugs, turning to collect an abandoned bag from the forest floor, “But I will. It’s the least you Jedi owe Ben.” She gestures for Anakin to follow, leading them out of the trees and towards a small building marked _Registration._

And because Anakin has never learned to hold his tongue, he breaks the silence, “Why do you call him Ben?”

Sanya starts in surprise from where she’s unlocking the building door. She looks like a dugar caught in a ship’s headlights. “Old habit are hard to break,” she sighs, waving Anakin inside and down a narrow, darkened hallway, “It’s – it’s the name he chose when he arrived here. Lots of failed initiates choose a different name when they give up their life at the Temple.”

“But,” Anakin struggles to find the words. He’s never realized how little he’d known of his Master’s past. It makes hurt flare up in his veins, the thought of everything Obi-Wan has refused to share. Or perhaps, everything Anakin had been too thoughtless to ask. “Obi-Wan wasn’t a failed initiate. He’s a Jedi Master – he’s my master.”

Sanya tosses him a set of sheets and a heavy, wool blanket from inside a cupboard and leads him to a room lined with empty bunks. “Years ago, Be – _Obi-Wan_ was assigned to the AgriCorps when he failed to be chosen as Padawan. He didn’t spend long here, maybe a few weeks, before the decision was overturned. Of course, Jedi initiates aren’t sent here anymore, they’re too valuable to the war effort.”

Anakin sits on an empty bunk, scrunching the rough, wool blanket between his hands. He keeps his gaze on the floor, tries to choke down the fact that Sanya – this _stranger –_ seems to grasp Obi-Wan far better than he could even fathom. “I never knew,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

He looks up, watches Sanya lean against the door, arms crossed. She sends him a wry smile, “This isn’t the first time the Jedi have turned their back on Kenobi. But if I have anything to do with it, it most certainly will be the last. He never deserved this,” she makes a frustrated sound, throws up her hands. “No initiate ever does.”

Anakin nods jerkily, remembers his own moment of judgement before the Council. The blazing heat of Qui-Gon’s pyre against his face, Obi-Wan looking back at him, Padawan braid still in place. _You will be a Jedi, I promise._

“There is no love for the Jedi here,” Sanya tells him, stepping back into the darkness of the hallway. Anakin wonders briefly just how loud he’s projecting. “Sleep, Anakin Skywalker. Rest assured I will not notify the Order of your presence here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Next week, we'll see our boys finally re-unite 
> 
> Also I found Sanya on Wookieepedia when I was looking up AgriCorps members but for the sake of the story she's stationed on Bandomeer not Ukio. There's not too much detail about their lives (that I can find) so fair warning, there will be some liberties taken.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm

_Ben is expecting you._

Sanya’s words haunt Anakin as he makes his way to the far side of Bandomeer’s farmland. Obi-Wan’s dwelling lays on the outskirts, up near the cliffs because, apparently, he enjoyed the push and pull of the waves breaking against rock.

Anakin hadn’t known that either.

Dawn is just creeping up over the horizon, pinks and oranges blanketing the sky as the darkness recedes into a brilliantly bright morning. Wheat-grass brushes along his palms, the house at the end of the dirt lane steeping ominously over the horizon.

The sight of the simple, wooden structure is enough to almost bring Anakin to his knees. He’s going to see Obi-Wan’s face again, hear his soft voice, feel the way his force signature brightens up a room. He stands on the stone porch for a long moment before he can muster up the courage to bring his fist up to the door and knock. The leather clad metal of his durasteel arm amplifies the sound, makes him flinch. 

The door hisses open slowly, and after months – _eons_ – Obi-Wan’s sleep lined face appears in the doorway before him.

The air is suddenly too thin in his lungs, too difficult to breathe. Obi-Wan’s force signature sings to life around him, warm and achingly familiar. Anakin greedily drinks in the sight of him, the same tired blue eyes, neatly trimmed beard, light hair falling across his forehead. He projects safety and home and Anakin wants to fall at his feet, beg for forgiveness for everything he’s done wrong, everything he’s done to make Obi-Wan leave him.

“You know,” Obi-Wan says dryly, leaning heavily against the door jam, “I never took you for an early riser.” He turns, gestures Anakin inside as if no time at all has passed, “I distinctly remember that you would sleep the day away if I allowed it.”

Anakin enters, standing in the doorway, almost dumbfounded. The house is covered in Obi-Wan’s force presence. It lingers in the small living room, stronger near the singular couch pushed up against the wall across from the holoscreen, and dances across to the kitchenette where Obi-Wan is currently putting a kettle on. A narrow set of stairs is tucked into the end of the living room, presumably leading towards an upstairs bedroom and refresher.

“You’re welcome to sit Anakin,” Obi-Wan turns to face him, the kettle humming away at his back. “No need for pleasantries.”

Anakin straightens his shoulders and crosses the space to take a seat at one of the four small stools that stand around a circular dining table. He still can’t find any words, has no reasonable explanation for what he’s doing here. Technically, he’s seen that Obi-Wan is alright. His job here is done, mission long past completed. And yet –

It’s just been _so_ long.

Obi-Wan makes no move to get any closer to him, standing with his arms crossed against the dark kitchen counters. His gaze is leveled, face carefully blank in the way that Anakin has always hated. Except now, when Obi-Wan presence is so overwhelming, he can’t even bring himself to care _._ All that matters is that Obi-Wan is here. Looking at him. Willingly.

And it is _everything_.

“Master,” Anakin whispers finally.

He forces his mouth against the urge to cry, blinking at the way the sunlight illuminates Obi-Wan’s silhouette. Anakin’s soul is bared, shields flayed open against an onslaught of emotions so strong they make his teeth rattle. He brings his elbows onto the table, presses his palms into his eyes hard enough that he sees stars.

Obi-Wan’s presence stutters.

“Padawan _.”_

And Anakin wants to scream. To fight, to claw at Obi-Wan for answers that he knows he will never deserve. Instead, he clears his throat, the sound watery. “How – how’re you doing?” He lifts his head, forces his eyes back onto Obi-Wan, tracking him as he finally crosses the short space to take a seat beside him. “And before you say anything, Ahsoka’s the one that found you, not me. She said you might be in trouble.”

Obi-Wan smiles at him, a slight twist of his lips. It doesn’t reach his eyes, but the sight warms Anakin’s bones nonetheless. “I’m fine, Anakin.”

Anakin nods. The silence stretches between them, long and uncomfortable in a way it hasn’t been since the Rako Hardeen days.

“Yeah,” Anakin says, desperate, thumbing at the worn wood of the table to give his hands something to do, “Yeah, I can see that. I – I guess I’ll be on my way now then. Sanya told me you didn’t want to be found, I’m sorry, I’m not very good at following orders. But you already know that, of course. You were my master. I mean, not that you aren’t – “

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says quietly, eyes pointedly not meeting his, “If I didn’t want to see you, I would’ve asked Sanya not to give you my coordinates. She was reluctant enough as it is.”

Anakin falls silent, bites his tongue hard enough that the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth. _Then_ _why_ , he wants to ask, _why did you disappear_. _Why did you leave me?_ And yet, all the same, he can’t bring himself to ruin the first taste of tranquility he’s had in months.

“You look terrible,” Obi-Wan stands, ignoring his lack of response. He places a hand on his shoulder. Anakin’s tongue throbs, Obi-Wan’s hand a burning touch through his shoulder plate, down through his robes, scorching his very skin. “I’m about to make breakfast. Let me make you something?”

Anakin turns his head, catches the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist with his mouth, lips brushing the blue-green veins. The pulse of longing and relief pounding in his temples, so loud compared to the gentleness of Obi-Wan’s heartbeat. “Alright,” he says roughly.

Obi-Wan jerks his arm back like he’s been burned, and once more, he is a fortress in the force. Unreadable. But, his blue eyes are storming as they meet Anakin’s. “I’ll be right back,” he says softly, “Give me a few minutes.”

“Yes Master,” Anakin whispers back, watching Obi-Wan retreat back towards the stove.

Breakfast ends up being two plates of spiced eggs, a side of porridge that Anakin hates, and freshly cut fruit. The food is fresh, most likely grown in the surrounding farmlands. Obi-Wan’s never been as good of a cook as he fancied himself to be, but the first bite brings Anakin back to golden mornings in the Temple, Anakin laughing in Obi-Wan’s quarters while Ahsoka grumbled about, looking for a missing sock.

Weeks on the front with dehydrated packs and ration bars has nothing on this moment.

“I know you don’t like porridge,” Obi-Wan tells him, blowing on his food, almost apologetic.

Anakin shakes his head sharply. “No,” he chokes out, “No, I’ve actually missed your porridge, old man.” He spoons up a bit, lets it gloop back into the bowl unappetizingly. Obi-Wan laughs at his side, but he’s projecting a kind of soft protectiveness that Anakin has only felt when he’s been hurt in battle, or woken up screaming in the dead of the night from nightmares he can’t chase away.

The meal passes in relative silence and Anakin knows he’s most likely overstayed his welcome, but when he attempts to stand, Obi-Wan tugs him back down. “Let me clear the dishes. Help me gather the firewood after, will you?”

“Firewood?” Anakin asks quizzically, plopping back into his seat heavily as Obi-Wan clears the dishes. “Don’t you have central heating? Besides, where would you even - ” He trails off, eyeing the stone hearth that connects the small dining area to the living room. Anakin has only ever made fires outdoors, freezing on the front. He never realized that there would be a designated place for it in a home. He certainly hadn’t had one back on Tatooine.

Once he’s finished with the dishes, Obi-Wan looks back at him, drying his hands in finality. “Come,” he says simply, “but leave your saber here.”

Anakin looks down at the weapon hanging at his belt then back at his master. Obi-Wan is wearing a beige linen tunic, belted at the waist, a pair of matching linen trousers and a set of brown leather shoes. It’s very similar to what Anakin is used to seeing him, but there’s no armor anymore, no familiar lightsaber at his side.

It brings on a fresh wave of heartbreak that he struggles to hide behind his tattered shields.

“Okay,” he nods, looking around the small dwelling. “Where can I - ?”

“Upstairs,” Obi-Wan answers, gesturing towards the stairs Anakin had seen when he first entered, “And you can do without your armor as well if you wish.”

Anakin rises, crossing the small house until he’s standing at the bottom of the rickety set of stairs. Obi-Wan has lived here for the past few months, there are various books lying about the living room, a soft looking blanket draped over the couch. His force signature is even stronger in this part – Obi-Wan had actually been sleeping. Or at least spending significant time in the bedroom.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s voice calls to him. Anakin turns just as he was about the take the first step upwards. “Does the Council know you’re here?”

He’s barely able to contain the flinch, smoothing out his presence and hopes Obi-Wan hadn’t seen. “Yes,” he lies, “But I didn’t tell them you were here.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth lifts in a ghost of a familiar smile. “Up you go then, little one,” he says, still smiling. “Hurry down, alright?”

Anakin feels his face heat and he bites the ragged flesh of his tongue before he says anything stupid. He scrambles up the stairs, finding two doors, one that leads to a standard refresher and the other to Obi-Wan’s tidy bedroom.

The room itself is decently sized, but looks smaller due to the double bed pushed against one of the walls. Across, is a set of drawers, most likely filled with everything Obi-Wan owned. He never was one for possessions, not like Ahsoka and her glittery socks or Anakin and his droid parts. Beside the drawers, lies a familiar chest.

Other than that, the room is bare.

Anakin’s heart pounds and he does a quick check to make sure Obi-Wan hadn’t followed him up. Thankfully, he feels his master’s presence still waiting for him at the door. He turns to the chest, clicking it open it carefully. Inside, is a roll of clothing that Anakin immediately recognizes as Qui-Gon Jinn’s robes and Anakin’s padawan braid.

He looks back at the door again, fleetingly, just to make sure he’s still alone. And before he can think again, Anakin reaches into his pockets, pulling out Ahsoka’s silka beads and lays them down beside his own braid. The two Padawans that have been fortunate enough to be touched by Obi-Wan Kenobi’s compassion.

He swallows, steps back, and because he doesn’t know what else to do, Anakin finds himself unclipping his lightsaber, shoving it into the chest, and snapping it shut with a thud.

**. . . .**

They chop wood for almost an hour, Anakin and Obi-Wan carrying it back towards the house in turns until there’s a small mountain of it on the stone porch of the house. Anakin’s dripping with sweat under Bandomeer’s hot sun. He’d shed his armor upstairs in Obi-Wan’s room, but now finds himself stripping off his tunic and undershirt after watching Obi-Wan do the same. “How long until you must return?” Obi-Wan asks him once they catch their breaths. He wipes his fingers on the undershirt fisted in his hands, rubbing the cloth along each finger and smearing the white fabric with dirt. “Surely they need you on the front soon?”

Anakin tears his gaze away from Obi-Wan’s fingers, squinting against Bandomeer’s harsh sun, “I have a few rotations,” he says vaguely, turning away. It’s almost midday now and he feels woozy. Rest had not been easy to come by in the past few months. He clasps his hands together to stop the shaking, tries to reassure himself that the 501st was en route to Coruscant, not unprotected on the battlefield. “There’s no rush.”

If Obi-Wan sees through his words, he doesn’t say anything. He takes a seat in the grass, tipping his head back to guzzle down water from a canteen. Anakin stands a few feet away, watches the line of his throat work, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the pale expanse of his chest and shoulders littered with freckles that look like stars. He clears his throat, looking back at the crashing waves over the edge of the cliff.

“How –” he breaks off, but he has Obi-Wan’s attention now. He must continue. “How long until you – your return?” He keeps his gaze pointedly on the crystalline blue waves below, even when he hears Obi-Wan sigh deeply beside him.

“I’m not coming back, Anakin.”

“I see,” Anakin says faintly. His heart hammers and he feels foolish. “But we need you.” _I need you._

“There are other ways to do good, Padawan,” Anakin turns his head, catches Obi-Wan rising from his seat in the grass. He holds his breath as his master draws nearer. Obi-Wan’s eyes are a plethora of green and blue in the sunlight. “Here at the AgriCorps, we use the force to grow food, to the feed the hungry. I don’t need to be a general to make a difference in the war effort. Maybe this was the path I should have taken long ago.”

Anakin crosses his arms, holds in his heart. “So,” he says, quietly, tries to keep his voice level, “that’s it then?”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan softens, “I cannot return even if I wished it.” He reaches out, uncrossing Anakin’s hands and taking them into his own. “I will never be allowed to lead the GAR again.”

“You could still come back,” Anakin whispers, “I could take you to the Temple. We can – you could come with me on my missions. As an advisor. Or you could go with Ahsoka. We need you out there, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan squeezes his hands, “Anakin, the time for that is over now. I have responsibilities here that you would not understand.”

“Oh yeah,” Anakin snaps, “like what?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head and Anakin can’t run fast enough to cross the parsecs between them. “Like I said, you wouldn’t understand, dear one. The force has shown me a different path, and it is my duty to take it.”

_Dear one._

Anakin swallows. He wonders for the first time if the endearment actually means anything or if it’s something Obi-Wan says, always flirtatious by nature. He’d always thought it was special, a secret just between the two of them. But he’s learning that maybe there were no such shared secrets, only secrets that Obi-Wan has kept from him, for one reason or the other. “I’m sorry,” he says at last.

Obi-Wan’s eyes are soft, but quizzical, and he frees a hand to cup Anakin’s cheek. “Why ever for?”

Anakin shakes his head, forces down the emotion bubbling in his chest, up his throat, and squeezing in the corners of his eyes. “May I stay with you?” he asks instead, gripping Obi-Wan’s wrist to press his palm more firmly against his face. He’s not sure why he’s being held in this way, but it makes his stomach swoop traitorously. “For a little while? I – I’ve missed you, Master.”

“Of course, Anakin,” Obi-Wan takes back his hands and Anakin feels empty. “I never could deny you.”

**. . . .**

Suppers are often communal on Bandomeer, to celebrate the harvest of the day.

They take place behind the large, main AgriCorps building that Anakin had glimpsed on his first night on the planet. The glass building has an open, dirt field in the back, where he spots four large, white pieces of fabric being pulled taut to create a spacious tent-like area. Under the

covering lie three long, wooden tables. Each overflows with trays of vegetables, meats, and fruit, some of which Anakin has never seen before. A stack of plates stand waist high out of plastic chests at the foot of each table.

The evening is cool, ocean-salted breeze blowing through Anakin’s hair. He feels marginally better now, his stomach rumbling as the aroma of food hits him. Once him and Obi-Wan had finished gathering the wood, Obi-Wan had made them a light lunch, allowed him to shower and lounge on the couch while he disappeared into the bedroom. They hadn’t spoken much afterwards, but Anakin spent the afternoon curled in front of the holoscreen, tunic and skin smelling of Obi-Wan’s soap, the comfort of Obi-Wan’s nearby force signature buzzing around him.

He’d sent a quick message to Ahsoka, telling her that he’d found Obi-Wan and that he’d be back in a few rotations. Ahsoka’s reply had been short, telling him that she’d cover for him as long as she could, and Anakin could practically hear her exasperated fondness. The circle really was complete; the student had truly become the master.

Obi-Wan pulls him further into the tent, handing him a plate wordlessly in the buzzing chatter of the two-hundred-and-odd beings around them. Anakin realizes, almost with a jolt, that most of the people here are already familiar with Obi-Wan. As AgriCorps members pass by them, many nod at Obi-Wan with a polite smile, or a brief squeeze of the shoulder.

Only the lighting of the main fire brings a hush over the crowd. The blaze bathes the area golden and fights the chill of the moonless night. Anakin finds himself pushed along the table and he tries to place one of everything he sees in his plate. He’s never seen food like this, in this sheer variety, not even on Coruscant. He can feel Obi-Wan’s shoulders shaking in amusement at his side, but before he can flush in embarrassment and dart away, a young Rodian hands Anakin another plate with a smile.

“Eat. You are our guest.” he says warmly, “There’s nowhere quite like Bandomeer in the galaxy when it comes to food.”

Anakin accepts the gesture gratefully, balances two nearly full plates as him and Obi-Wan find their seats at the far table, across from two twi’leks. One of them peers at Anakin, eyes large and luminous. “Anakin Skywalker,” she says, knowing, “Tell me, did you find what you were looking for?”

Anakin startles, almost choking on the large bite of fish he’d taken. Obi-Wan only smiles, the firelight casting deep shadows on his handsome face. He places a hand on Anakin’s back, most likely as reassurance, but Anakin almost chokes again at the gesture. “Mara,” Obi-Wan’s voice is light, but the warning is clear, “Where are your manners? Please keep out of my Padawan’s mind.”

Anakin blinks at the woman, sizes her up in a new light. “You – ?”

Mara sends him a lopsided smile, leaning her chin on her fist. “You’ll find that many of us have interesting force gifts, though not always useful.”

Anakin sputters, “Are you kidding me?” he laughs, “That’s _amazing._ I couldn’t even tell you were trying to get a read on me.” 

“You won’t be saying that when she cheats you at Sabacc,” Obi-Wan cuts in smoothly, reaching for another bread bun with his free hand. The hand on Anakin’s back strokes up and down gently, Anakin shivering at the contact. “Anakin here is truly dismal, so let’s not take advantage of him Mara.”

“How dare you, Ben,” Mara winks at Anakin, flicking her lekku, “I would never take advantage of anyone in that way.” 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Obi-Wan replies like he’s humoring her.

Anakin sinks back then, lets the two of them talk. Obi-Wan tries to get him involved a few times, but Anakin only blinks in sleepy content, leaning into his master’s shoulder. Obi-Wan tenses at the contact for a second, before he glances at Anakin’s face. Whatever Anakin is projecting seems to be enough for Obi-Wan to relax, tucking Anakin firmly into his side, his beard brushing Anakin’s forehead.

“I didn’t know you liked Jogan fruit so much,” Obi-Wan says to him quietly during a lull in the conversation when Mara leaves to get a drink of ale.

“I didn’t know you had a double life you never told me about,” Anakin murmurs in return. The shoulder under his cheek jerks away and Anakin almost face plants into the table.

Obi-Wan makes an apologetic sound. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and Anakin has a feeling it’s not for the sudden movement. “You – “

“ – wouldn’t understand? I know,” Anakin sighs. He’s already colder, the warmth of Obi-Wan’s touch rapidly disappearing. He peers up, finds Obi-Wan’s gaze already tracked on him, eyes wary. And Anakin knows he could start this conversation now, but he’s so afraid, afraid to ruin the tentative peace of the night, afraid of anger and fighting, afraid Obi-Wan will leave him again.

“I just missed you,” he confesses finally, “Every day, I missed you. There wasn’t an hour that went by that I didn’t wonder where you were and if you were doing alright. That probably makes me a terrible Jedi, but I couldn’t help it, Master.” 

Obi-Wan makes a soft noise of distress in the back of his throat and his arm returns to its place around Anakin. “Believe me, dear one,” he squeezes Anakin close, runs a soothing hand through his curls, “I never intended to cause you pain. If it makes any difference, it – it was not an easy time for me either.”

Anakin shivers, tucks his head under Obi-Wan’s chin for a moment. “As long as you’re here now,” he whispers, breathes in the scent of Obi-Wan’s skin, “That’s enough for me.”

Obi-Wan is silent for a moment. When he speaks next, Anakin can feel the vibrations of his vocal chords against his temple before he pulls away reluctantly. “We’ll talk more of this later. Rest for today - it seems you haven’t been taking very good care of yourself.”

Anakin nods in relief, watches as Obi-Wan takes another bite of his bread, and when Mara returns to the table, the smooth baritone of his voice never breaks. Anakin feels pleasantly full, having scarfed down his dinner far faster than his master. All that’s left in front of him is a piece of half-eaten lemon cake and a slice of Jogan fruit that he’s determined to make room for eventually.

Mara says something then, calling to the Rodian that had handed Anakin the plate at the beginning of dinner, to which the Rodian responds with a rude gesture. Anakin instinctually waits for the sharp reprimand from his master, but Obi-Wan only laughs. And not in the traditional way Anakin is used to seeing. This time, the laugh is full, open-mouthed, Obi-Wan’s head thrown back, teeth bared. His hair is in a light disarray atop his head, wayward strands falling into his face.

Anakin’s staring, he knows, but he can’t help it. Obi-Wan’s shoulders seem lighter, no longer burdened by the weight of war.

He seems – _free._

Free, Anakin realizes with a punch in his stomach, to do whatever he pleased. The Jedi Code no longer applied to Obi-Wan – he was free to live wherever he wanted, be with whoever he chose, get married, have _children._ Bitter jealously shudders behind Anakin’s tense shields. He tears his gaze away, catching Mara’s knowing look in the process. She gives him a sad smile that Anakin can’t bear to witness, and he forces his attention elsewhere.

All around him, the buzz of lively chatter and laughter fills his senses. Plates are traded, food stolen from one another, some of the members are even dancing. By the main fire, Anakin can see Sanya and a tall, elderly Quarren sparring, faces drawn in concentration, a staff in each of their hands.

“Fighting at the dinner table,” Mara scoffs, breaking his reverie, “So uncivilized.”

Anakin shrugs, “They’re just sparring. My men do it all the time.”

“I know,” Mara grins wickedly, “Lets go join them.”

And despite Obi-Wan’s protests, Anakin and him are dragged to the fire. There’s a large group of people standing about a circle drawn in the dirt, Sanya and the Quarren still locked in a stance in the middle.

Sanya’s talented, Anakin notes, a natural really in the way her body flows through the motions of Ataru. Still, the Quarren is better, if only by sheer experience and age. His precise staff motions and sweeping movements leave Sanya stumbling. Anakin sees the slight opening in her defense only a millisecond before the Quarren does, and with a deft kick in the side, she’s levied backwards, staff flying out of her hand as she lands just outside of the circle by Anakin’s feet.

Sanya makes a sound of frustration, thumps the earth with a fist. “I almost had you,” she snarls, bracketing her knees with her arms and dropping her head in defeat.

The Quarren smiles at her good naturedly, twirling his staff in victory. “Almost,” he teases, “but not quite.”

Anakin finds himself crouching beside Sanya almost without thought, holding out a hand. She hesitates for a second but ultimately takes it, mild surprise leaking from her battle-shocked shields. “You’re good,” he tells her, replaying the fight in his mind as he pulls her up, “Very, very good. But I see the same holes in your defense as I once did in my Padawan. Maybe you should try dual wielding.”

Sanya narrows her eyes at him, “Maybe you should try keeping your opinions to yourself.”

Anakin steps back, dropping her hand in shock. Sanya grits her teeth and its only Obi-Wan’s gentle presence in the force that keeps Anakin from snapping back. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he says at last, “Just thought you’d want to win a fight for once.”

Sanya’s shoulders drop in defeat. “I’m sorry,” she relents, taking a seat in the dirt off to the side. “Dual wield. Got it.” The crowd around them is tight with tension, attention drawn to the spectacle like moths to a flame.

Mara claps her hands abruptly. “Alright,” she says, voice more than a little nervous. “Ben – you’re up next.”

Anakin feels Obi-Wan startle beside him. Clearly he hadn’t expected to participate.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan squirms, “No. I would be more than happy to simply watch. Someone else should probably – ”

“I see you’re still afraid of old Amin here.”

The Quarren – Amin – booms a laugh and gestures Obi-Wan forward. “I’ve heard you’ve become a great Jedi Master, young Kenobi. Come forward, show me what you’ve learned.”

Anakin watches, almost mystified that there was someone in the galaxy that would call Obi-Wan _young one._ Logically, he knows that Obi-Wan was once little himself, but it’s hard to imagine him that way. He’s only known Obi-Wan as a teacher, all-knowing, ever-present. It’s difficult to think of Obi-Wan in his place.

Obi-Wan gives Anakin a familiar, exasperated look that Anakin raises his eyebrows at in return. “Go on then,” he nods towards the ring, “The people want to see what you’ve learned.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan squints at him in the firelight as he ducks to pick up Sanya’s discarded staff, “do shut up, please.”

“Yes, Master.”

Anakin watches the match begin and as good as Amin is, he is absolutely no match for Obi-Wan’s quick wit and sharp senses. He gains the upper-hand quickly, the Quarren struggling to anticipate Obi-Wan’s moves that Anakin knows like the back of his hand. He’d never realized that Obi-Wan’s Soresu was so unpredictable. The crowd around them begins to egg them both on, calls of _go_ _Ben_ interspersed with _get him Amin._

They’re all friends here, Anakin realizes with a swoop in his stomach, actually friends. The living force wraps around them like a warm cocoon, twining with the firelight in the otherwise still darkness of Bandomeer. Anakin thinks that he’s never felt this safe before, not even in the Temple on Coruscant.

This, he realizes suddenly, are what the Jedi were meant to be. This is what Obi-Wan wanted for him back at the temple, always insisting that a young Anakin spend more time with his peers, with other masters. At the time, he’d assumed that it was simply because Obi-Wan was trying to pawn him off, that he was as unwanted as always.

The knowledge is startling as Anakin makes his way back to Sanya, sinking down in the dirt beside her. From the corner of his eyes he sees her watching him in return, attention ripped away from the match by his presence.

“How -,” he clears his throat to unstick the words, “How old were you when you were sent here?”

Sanya fists a handful of dirt. “Thirteen,” she says quietly. “If we weren’t chosen by then, we were sent to the ServiceCorps. It wasn’t meant to be personal, but some see us as washouts.”

“My Padawan was fourteen when she was assigned to me,” Anakin replies, trying to keep his voice steady. He’s never been thankful for the war before this moment. “We just knighted her. She’s – actually, here.” He fumbles with a pocket in his tunic, pulling out an old holodisk. He stalls for a second, double-checking. “Do you want to see?”

Sanya smiles, nodding. “Please.”

And Ahsoka’s form emerges from the disk, slightly younger than she is now, but all of her fierce determination present. The short video is from about two years ago, when they were still perfecting her dueling technique. “This is what I meant by duel wielding,” Anakin explains, “My Padawan, Ahsoka – she supplements with a shoto because her reverse grip leaves her defense more vulnerable than we’d like.”

He watches as Sanya’s dark eyes track Ahsoka’s shaky katas and practice forms. “She’s very talented,” she says at last.

Anakin flushes with pride. “Yeah, we’re still working on her developing a battle style. Some influence from me is natural but we don’t want her to be predictable. I mean,” he rambles, shaking his head and flipping off the holovid, “not like she’s predictable or anything now.”

“From how you talk about her, she sounds amazing.” Sanya says, but she’s looking at the dirt with a hollowness in her eyes that leaves Anakin grasping at straws. He’s not sure what he keeps doing wrong.

Anakin falls silent, at a loss for words, dimly watching Obi-Wan win his spar against Amin. The old Quarren’s shoulders are shaking with laughter as Obi-Wan helps him up, dusting off his tunic.

“You know,” Sanya says at his side and Anakin looks back at her as she continues, “I see why Ben likes you so much. He was so worried about you when he first arrived.”

Anakin swallows. “He didn’t even tell me when he left.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Sanya stands then, brushing the dirt off of her palms. “Ben has always been afraid of being a burden.”

Anakin feels faint. “Can you tell me what happened to him here?” he asks quietly, “I feel like I only have half the story.”

But Sanya only shakes her head. “It’s not my place to say,” she tells him, finality in every word. “You should ask him.”

**. . . .**

Anakin should really have seen this coming, he thinks as he stands across Obi-Wan in the sparring circle. Especially with the way the crowd was playfully boo-ing Obi-Wan, telling him it wasn’t fair because they were AgriCorps members and Obi-Wan was a Jedi Master.

“You know,” Obi-Wan tells him, as they circle each other lazily, “I really need to get better at saying no to people.”

“Well you can always learn from me,” Anakin grins at him, “I’m pretty good at saying no, especially when I shouldn’t.”

Obi-Wan laughs and Anakin chooses his momentary distraction to leap forward, bringing down the staff in an arc above his head with both hands. Of course, Obi-Wan parries him effortlessly, Anakin’s fighting style almost second nature to him by now. A deadly dance between the two of them begins, Anakin on the offensive, battering against the steady calm of Obi-Wan’s unbreakable Soresu.

Anakin’s always been the better duelist, but that doesn’t hold up against someone who knows his every move as well as his master does. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, edges him out tactically, but Anakin has seen enough of his tactics that the way his body moves is practically instinctive.

Against Obi-Wan, Anakin is the tide, always shifting back to re-attack, and his Master is the shore, ever present in the way he meets every move with a decisive counter. For a few long minutes, neither emerge with the upper-hand, the crowd hanging on to every move with rapt concentration.

Finally, Obi-Wan manages to surprise him.

When his master breaks his Soresu to attack, Anakin brings up his staff to defend, but the power behind the subsequent swings leaves him reeling. Obi-Wan strikes at him multiple times, seemingly unconnected staccato sequences that cause Anakin to lose his footing. The staff is ripped from his fingers and while he doesn’t fall backwards out of the ring, Anakin finds himself standing defenseless as Obi-Wan presses the staff flat against his abdomen.

“Do you yield?” Obi-Wan asks. His voice is quiet despite the fact that he’s breathing hard. He steps forward, almost chest to chest and Anakin resists the urge to stumble backwards.

“Anakin,” he asks again, raising his voice to be heard over the cheering of the other AgriCorps members, “Do you yield, dear one?”

And Anakin feels a burst of arousal so sharp it makes his knees buckle. “Yes,” he admits, body sagging, “I yield, Master.”

Obi-Wan steps back. His face is more open than Anakin has seen in decades, eyes dark and molten blue in the firelight. “Good,” he breathes, mouth curving up into a rough smile of triumph, dropping the staff into the dirt, forgotten.

This time, Anakin does stumble backwards. “What was that?” he demands, breaking their eye-contact to run a shaky hand through his sweaty curls, “I’ve never seen that move before.”

Obi-Wan shrugs, turning away to strip off his sweaty tunic. His strong shoulders flex, back covered in a thin layer of sheen, reflective in the low light.

The sight makes Anakin’s mouth go dry. “Have you been training without me?” he asks, fighting to keep his voice light, unaffected. “You better not have been training without me.”

Obi-Wan turns back to him, bundling his tunic in his hands and using it to wipe down his throat and chest. Anakin tracks the movement, absurdly wishes Obi-Wan would use his mouth instead. “What exactly did you expect me to do all day?” Obi-Wan peers at him, clearly amused.

Anakin crosses his arms to give them something to do. He feels the blood warming his cheeks and hopes the light is low enough that it doesn’t give him away. “I don’t know,” he grumbles, tearing his eyes away from Obi-Wan’s chest, “I guess it’s okay as long as you’re not sneaking around, training another Padawan or something.”

Obi-Wan’s shocked sound is enough for Anakin’s grin to return, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth. He steps back into the crowd, Obi-Wan following him, as he makes his way out of the heat of the tent and into Bandomeer’s darkness to catch his breath.

It’s only later, much, much later, when they’re back home and Anakin is laying on his back, sprawled out languidly on Obi-Wan’s couch that the night changes.

He’s almost delirious with sleep, the shadows of the cabin dancing in the dim firelight. Obi-Wan had gone to bed after showing Anakin how to light it, smiling at his sheer delight over an indoor fire. His soothing force presence hums away at the edge of Anakin’s shields, rocks him deeper and deeper into the lull of a pleasant sleep.

He turns over onto his side, pulling the soft blanket up over his shoulders and burrowing deeper into the warmth of the couch. Anakin lowers his shields a little, prods at Obi-Wan’s presence, slack with sleep. He tries to feed a smidge of contentment over their bond, but the bond is as unresponsive as ever, a dead thing in his mind that radiates with bitter cold.

It’s then that he notices the sudden flare of a force signature. A familiar one.

 _There’s something else_ , Ahsoka had said, _Something dark._

Anakin blots upright, sharp eyes tracking the front door, the outlines of the windows, before he realizes that the presence is actually a few klicks away.

Dimly he realizes he’s trembling, distress and disbelief leaking from his every pore. A light clicks on from the direction of the stairs, bathing the living room in a faint glow.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan sounds strangled, frantic, _afraid,_ but Anakin can barely hear him over the roaring in his ears.

He knows that presence. Has felt it intimately all those years ago in the dusty sand dunes of Tatooine. A double-bladed lightsaber, blood-red in nature, and a pair of golden, hateful eyes flash through his mind.

Anakin’s going to be _sick_. “Master,” he says slowly, carefully, “What’re you really doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for a slightly lackluster chapter, hopefully the next one will be better. As always thank you for dropping by and reading 💕


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Anakin have half of their overdue conversations & Ahsoka returns with a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I wanted to apologize for responding to comments so late. Thank you to everyone that takes the time to leave me a few words, I appreciate each and every one of you. I've just been buried at work lately, the holiday seasons are always so rough.

“You _knew_ ,” Anakin breathes. He’s curled into the far end of the couch, the soft blanket Obi-Wan had given him wrapped tightly around his shoulders to stop the trembling. Obi-Wan is beside him, elbows on his knees, face ashen.

“I did.”

The admission is quiet, resigned.

“Tell me everything,” Anakin demands, tracing the way the low-light captures Obi-Wan’s fine features, reflects in this clear eyes. In the semi-darkness of the room Anakin can make out the way his shoulders droop, defeated. “Master, you can trust me.”

Obi-Wan turns to him then, suddenly fierce, “I know I can trust you, my dear. There is no one I trust more.”

“Then tell me,” Anakin pleads, “I can’t help you unless I know what’s going on.”

There’s a long beat of silence.

Obi-Wan sighs, brings his feet up under himself on the couch. Anakin is instantly reminded of happier nights in Obi-Wan’s Temple quarters, his master reading reports on a datapad on the couch, Anakin curled on the floor with a wrench and his project-of-the-week.

“I – I came to Bandomeer to find a purpose,” he says quietly, “I felt betrayed. _Angry_. Like the Senate was forcing the Jedi to turn their back on me when I had faithfully served the GAR all this time. I know I wasn’t perfect – ”

“You were.”

Obi-Wan gives him a ghost of a smile and Anakin straightens, leans closer to Obi-Wan so that his master might lean on him, in case the words spilling out of him caused him pain. “Bandomeer serves to remind me of the true purpose of the Jedi. We are meant to be peacekeepers, not soldiers. But all I’ve been recently is a soldier. It’s not something I’m proud of, Anakin.”

Anakin frowns. “But it’s your duty to serve the Republic,” he insists, “You’ve been doing what is necessary. The Council should have fought for you, if I were there I _never_ would have let them just throw you away.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan shakes his head ruefully, “The Council _did_ fight for me. They called in Ahsoka to conduct a private investigation against the wishes of the Senate. Unfortunately, this ordeal has shown me how little faith the people have in the Jedi. Ahsoka was able to prove that I wasn’t responsible for the attack, but she is still a Knight. Public opinion has already turned against us and we certainly didn’t need the extra suspicion.”

“So you leaving was _what_ exactly?” Anakin asks incredulously. “An easy way for the Council to clean up their image?”

“My dear,” Obi-Wan reaches out, tugs the blanket free from where Anakin has it balled in his fists, “It was not the Council that wanted me to leave. It was the Senate.”

“Padme would never allow that,” Anakin argues instantly, “And neither would the Chancellor.”

Obi-Wan cocks an eyebrow, “Padme does not control the Senate, she is simply one voice in a sea of many. And as for your opinion of the Chancellor, we shall agree to disagree.”

Anakin narrows his eyes, “What’s that supposed to mean? The Chancellor is a good friend. He’s always had my best interests at heart. He’s doing the best he can in a bad situation.”

The fire crackles loudly, the force amplifying Anakin’s frustration. He’d come for answers, but he had underestimated Obi-Wan’s ability to talk in circles. How the man could simultaneously say so much, yet so little, was beyond him sometimes.

When he was a padawan it used to make him feel small and stupid. Sometimes, Anakin thinks not much has really changed.

“Besides,” he says, voice accusatory, “The Chancellor’s not the one that keeps lying to me.”

Obi-Wan turns to face Anakin fully, resting his weight on his shins the way Anakin has seen him meditate. “I wish you did not doubt me so,” he whispers, “But I see I have no one to blame but myself.”

Anakin makes an aborted motion, he wants to reach out to Obi-Wan, but he’s not sure if now is the right time. If it will ever be the right time. “I don’t doubt you, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker over his face. He raises a hand, making the move Anakin had been too timid to make. A palm settles warmly where Anakin’s bare shoulder connects to his neck, Obi-Wan’s thumb stroking gently into the hollow of his throat. “I did not know Maul was here when I arrived,” he admits, “But I do know he came looking for me.”

“He came looking for revenge,” Anakin clarifies.

“He did,” Obi-Wan relents, “But – there’s pain in him, great pain. His brother, Savage, is no longer with him. Maul claims his master killed him and luckily for him,” Obi-Wan smiles, cocky and just a smidge arrogant. Anakin’s gotten his own smirk from Obi-Wan no matter how much his old Master denies it, “I no longer possess a weapon. Which means, he cannot best me in combat. Naturally, to Maul, this would make my death most unsatisfactory.”

“So now you’re just going to let him stick around?”

Obi-Wan sighs, shoulders dropping. His thumb rubs hot circles into Anakin’s throat. “Killing him is not the Jedi way, Anakin. I know where he’s from. I’ve been to his village. I know that the decision to join the darkside was not his own, the nightsisters made it for him. And now, the darkness has consumed him but _perhaps –_ there is still a chance _–_ ”

“He killed Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan’s arm drops away and he turns away from Anakin, back towards the fire, eyes closed. His shields are drawn tight, but emotion ripples across his face violently, gone too quickly for Anakin to make out. “I know,” he says simply. “He also killed Satine.”

Anakin turns away as well, focusing his eyes on the slowly strengthening fire before them. “How could you not want to avenge them?”

“If I were to kill him out of anger, for revenge,” Obi-Wan begins slowly. It’s clear he’s not finished ruminating the possibility of striking down Maul, clear that he’s spent an infinitesimal amount of time turning over the decision. “I would be no better than him. Consumed by a need for revenge.” He turns to Anakin, eyes suddenly clear and unnerving and piercing, “We are better than that, dear one.”

Anakin looks away sharply. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, “I understand.”

“However, that does not mean I shall not bring him to justice when the time is right,” Obi-Wan continues firmly. “But for now, Maul holds critical information about the identity of the sith lord – his master. Darth Sidious he called him. During meditations, he’s hinted – ”

Anakin stands abruptly. He whips around, heart drumming against his ribcage. “You’re _meditating_ with him?”

Obi-Wan looks back at him, calm and steady as ever. “I am merely instructing him to calm his mind. I never lower my shields or expose myself.”

A searing, hot dollop jealously coats the underside of Anakin’s belly. “But – you. You’re _training_ him.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says sharply. He stands as well, but does not try to follow when Anakin takes an unsteady step backwards. “I am most certainly not _training_ him. Maul is suggesting that Darth Sidious is masquerading as a high ranking official in the Senate who is playing both sides of the Clone Wars, just as Dooku said. I’m merely attempting to find the truth.”

“You’re a fool, old man,” Anakin snarls. He turns away again, tries to pull his gaze away from where Obi-Wan keeps trying to reach out to him, prodding at him in the force. “Maul is a master manipulator.”

“That may be so,” Obi-Wan replies. “But he is exceedingly simple when you understand his motives.”

Anakin shakes his head, “You’re foolish to think you understand him. That’s just what he wants you to think.” He clenches his fists, breath stuttering, “You have Qui-Gon’s killer and you haven’t _avenged_ him.”

The fire blazes.

And finally, Obi-Wan breaks, his voice rising in volume. “Anakin, what on earth makes you think Qui-Gon would even _want_ that?”

“Well he would’ve wanted you to do _something – ”_

“Do _not_ ,” Obi-Wan thunders, “claim to know my former master better than I do.”

Anakin flinches back immediately. In all his years as Obi-Wan’s padawan, Obi-Wan has never raised his voice at him. Not even once. His response was always a deep sigh and a long-winded lecture delivered in a steady tone that Anakin always found to be more droll than serious. In the face of Obi-Wan’s true, unbridled anger, Anakin can only flounder for a response.

He settles on fighting fire with fire.

“Well then then how come _your_ former master wanted to train _me_ more than he wanted to train _you_?” he asks sharply, voice cruel, words infinitely crueler, “I know you were sent to Bandomeer because nobody chose you. Nobody – “

The words die in his throat at the burst of pure devastation that emanates from Obi-Wan’s force signature.

There’s a deathly silence in the room. The fire crackle a last time, only embers now.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin stumbles forward, hands finding the sides of Obi-Wan’s face, holding him still even as Obi-Wan attempts to hide. “Master, _please,_ I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it – I swear, sometimes I just get so _angry._ Something in me just snapped. My temper – “

Obi-Wan stops fighting him, sagging in his hold and Anakin resists the near physical urge to drag him close. His master is still leaking anguish. It makes the already dead bond in Anakin’s mind twitch with pain.

He has never hated himself more.

“Padawan,” Obi-Wan says weakly. “You mistake my kindness for weakness.” His blue eyes shine with crystalline wetness and Anakin feels his stomach swoop with despair. “And you would do well to watch your tongue.”

By the time Obi-Wan returns to his bedroom, the fire in the living room is out cold. Anakin huddles under his blanket miserably, fist pressed to his mouth to keep his teeth from clattering.

Neither one of them gets very much sleep that night.

**. . . .**

Maul is stalking in a clearing deep in the woodlands of Bandomeer, much like the one Anakin had first landed in. He tears at his horns, hands throwing manic gestures in the air as he speaks, too quiet and quick for Anakin or Obi-Wan to make out.

 _Anakin,_ Obi-Wan had said to him, _Do as I say for once and please stay close to me._

In actuality, he hadn’t wanted Anakin to come at all, but Anakin had insisted. The thought of Obi-Wan spending time with Maul voluntarily, alone, and unarmed made a chill settle over him. Even from afar, Maul seemed deranged, his angry force signature striking out randomly, oozing hostility. At once, Anakin is glad that he had the foresight of bringing his lightsaber.

When Maul sees that Anakin is accompanying Obi-Wan today, his mouth pulls into a wide smile, sharp canines glinting in the sun. “I see you’ve brought your guard-dog, Kenobi,” he says, eyes sweeping over Anakin, assessing, “Does this mean the Jedi have seen the error in their ways?”

Obi-Wan scowls deeply. Anakin has never seen his Master look so disgusted. “I’m afraid such matters are confidential. I am simply here to warn you not to make yourself known. My apprentice here was able to sense you last night. Either you leave – ”

“I will _never_ leave,” Maul spits, jabbing a finger at Obi-Wan, “Not until I have the revenge I have been seeking. Your time will come, Kenobi, and when we fight, you will fall like all others in my path.”

Obi-Wan regards Maul calmly, even when Anakin feels a low growl tear from his throat. “You’ll have to go through me if you want him,” he snarls.

Maul’s golden gaze turns to Anakin and his expression shifts to amusement. “Don’t you worry, _apprentice_ , Kenobi is used to letting people die for him.”

“Enough,” Obi-Wan says sharply. His shoulders are shaking and he takes a deep breath to steady himself. Anakin reaches for him, presses a hand to his shoulder in the same way Obi-Wan has done for him before an important Council meeting or battle.

Maul’s eyes zero in on the action and Anakin gets the eerie feeling that Maul knows more about the two of them than he’s letting on. His mind sharpened by insanity, focused by hate, and broken by the darkness. Nonetheless, Anakin holds his ground.

Maul laughs, the sound shattering the quiet of the woods, “We are quite the trio are we not? Merely tools for greater powers. Case aside by the hypocrisy of those we serve and call master.”

“You lost your mind ages ago didn’t you?” Anakin snorts, “Do you ever make any sense anymore?”

Obi-Wan throws Anakin a flat look, pushing him gently behind his own body, warm hand remaining on his ribs. “While this has all been very entertaining, it is wholly unnecessary. Maul, you need to – ”

“The only thing I _need_ is for you to have a weapon so that I may cut you down with satisfaction.”

Obi-Wan sighs, forehead wrinkling with impatience. “We’ve been over this already,” he says lightly, “Unfortunately for you, my weapon is on Coruscant at the Jedi Temple. You are, however, welcome to retrieve it for me.”

Maul stalks forward dangerously, emanating death. Anakin makes to block him but Obi-Wan’s hand is incessant in keeping him in place. “Come now,” Obi-Wan gestures Maul forward as he sinks to his knees in the wild-grass. “It’s time for a meditation and a lesson in control.”

Anakin makes an aborted noise despite his better judgement. Reasonably he knew Obi-Wan meditated with Maul, but seeing it for himself is a new kind of shock.

Obi-Wan glances up at him, squinting against the late afternoon sun. “Will you be joining us, Padawan?”

Anakin gives Obi-Wan an affronted look, sinking to his knees beside him. The grass is cold against his skin, dampness seeping through the thin fabric of his pants. “Like I’d ever let you train without me.”

Obi-Wan shuts his eyes straight away, his force signature swirling in the air. Anakin watches Maul longer than his Master does, watches the way the Zabrak kicks at the dirt, muttering words in a foreign tongue, angry and fiery. Their eyes meet once and Maul makes a choked sound, following Anakin and Obi-Wan’s motion, knees meeting Bandomeer’s dirt.

Anakin lets his eyes slide shut, lets his senses expand, uses the living force to open his mind and soul. Obi-Wan’s presence is familiar beside him and Anakin hasn’t felt it so intimately in what feels like years. He opens his side of the bond, tries to pull Obi-Wan in through it, but he is only able to make the faintest of connections. The bond lights up for a brief moment before fizzling. Nonetheless, a warmth remains between the two of them, blanketing them in the rightness.

Anakin feels a surge of love rise up in him, as embarrassing as it is deeply familiar. Thankfully their force signatures are not yet blended and Obi-Wan’s shields remain as impenetrable as ever. He’s convinced that his Master’s lack of knowledge concerning his feelings stem more from Obi-Wan’s intentional obtuseness rather than true ignorance. 

Regardless, the new found link gives him confidence and he reaches out to Obi-Wan, a gentle prodding in the force that Obi-Wan returns with ease, his shields thinning just for Anakin. And for a brief moment it is just them, alone, in a sea of grass on a peaceful Republic planet. Anakin wonders, sometimes, _shamefully_ sometimes, what it would have been like if he was found by someone other than the Jedi.

Then he remembers Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and the notion leaves him entirely.

Maul’s presence is lightening around their safe-haven, all flashes of dark and danger. Anakin flinches away from him for a second, but Obi-Wan opens their collective shields enough for him to reach out to the Zabrak. But, does not allow Maul to enter his mind, not like Anakin had been allowed. Anakin thinks he’ll never stop being amazed at the sheer control Obi-Wan seems to possess when it comes to the force, able to perform even the most delicate of maneuvers with ease. Anakin’s shields could never compare, too fragile to allow him to slip deep enough into meditation to achieve the ever elusive peace the Temple elders keep speaking about.

Nevertheless, Anakin mimics his master, reaching out to prod at Maul’s ever calming presence in the force. He readies himself for the darkness, doesn’t want to embarrass himself like he did on Geonosis against Dooku. Obi-Wan has seen enough of his failures to last a lifetime.

There isn’t much darkness.

Nowhere near as much as he had been expecting. Instead, all Anakin can see for a singular, blinding moment is _pain_.

Acute anguish that knocks him backwards, sits on his chest, and sneers down at him in sheer contempt.

He’s assaulted, buckling under flashes of a dark, hooded figure striking down a young, pleading Zabrak in the shattered throne room of Mandalore, a darksaber ripping open Satine’s ribcage, the sheer emptiness of watching Obi-Wan curl around her body in despair. _It was for nothing, it was for nothing, it was for nothing, it will all always be for nothing, nothing –_

Maul’s pain is familiar, Anakin realizes, a punch to his stomach, he’s seen such pain in himself. And now, he’s drowning in it.

And yet, Obi-Wan brings him back as he always does, a gentle brush of his fingers against Anakin’s collar. Anakin jerks back from Maul’s mind, heart pounding.

By the time they exit the meditation, Anakin is more shaken than he was before the whole affair had begun. If Obi-Wan feels the same way, he doesn’t let it show. Whatever he may be feeling is hidden deep behind rigid shields, and Anakin can almost see himself as a Padawan, banging against them with both fists, begging to be let in.

When Maul’s eyes open across the clearing, he slumps over, fists pressing into the dirt. His aura is clearer, force humming around him, quelled.

Anakin looks at Obi-Wan in a mixture of wonder and disbelief. The war has changed them all, it’s made Ahsoka snappier, her humor sharper and more jagged. It’s made Anakin angrier, temper flaring at the slightest mishap.

But above all, it has made Obi-Wan kind.

“Better?”

Maul swipes at his nose, hands trembling. “Yes.”

For a moment, all that is heard is the far off chirp of a puffin.

“Water,” Maul breathes then. He presses his forehead into the ground, “Water.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says to him mildly, “Could you run back to the house and bring our guest here something to eat and drink?” Maul makes a motion to rise but Obi-Wan continues, voice rising sharply, “You will not follow him.”

Maul’s gaze lifts to the two of them, but his eyes are trained on Anakin. Their eyes meet once and something unspeakable passes between them.

“You go,” Anakin finds himself saying, nudging his master with an elbow. He sits back in the clearing, although Maul makes no motion to move. “I’ll watch him, Master.”

Obi-Wan looks at him unhappily, mouth thinning, “Absolutely not,” he says, firm. “Padawan – ”

“I’m the one with the weapon,” Anakin reminds him, gently tapping the back of Obi-Wan’s calf, “Go. The house isn’t far from here.”

Obi-Wan looks deeply torn, the corners of his eyes edging in fear as they flit between Anakin and Maul, only separated by rows of wheatgrass. Bandomeer’s sun beats down on them, ever present.

“Go,” Anakin says again, this time pleading, “Let me do this for you. For once.”

Obi-Wan rises, something unreadable in his expression at Anakin’s words. “I’ll be back in two klicks. Be careful, Anakin, and signal if you need any help at all.”

**. . . .**

Maul knows something about him.

Anakin can it in the way he tracks his every movement, eyes cold and calculating. There’s something dark in his gaze, dangerous, like Maul is witness to something everyone else remains blind to.

“Anakin Skywalker,” Maul says slowly. He’s standing now, hovering near the mouth of a small, rickety ship. Anakin is surprised he was able to make a successful landing with that thing. “You are Kenobi’s apprentice?”

Anakin leans back on his hands, stretching his feet out before him. He doesn’t answer, looking away lazily even though he keeps Maul at the corner of his eyes always.

Maul clearly doesn’t expect a response, because he only continues smoothly, unperturbed. “I sensed that you share my pain. You and I, we are not so different. I, too, was cast aside by my Master when it was convenient for him.”

“Shut up.” The words rise out of him, uncontrolled, even when the deepest recesses of Anakin’s mind are trembling with agreement.

Maul laughs, loud and humorless and crazed all at once. “So _this_ is how the Chosen One falls.”

Anakin brings his knees to his chest, leaning over them. He clenches his fists, mimicking the tension in his jaw. “I _said,_ shut the – ”

“Careful, Skywalker,” Maul tuts, clicking his tongue, “lest you end up suffering as I did.” He smiles, “Either way, I look forward to your fate for it seems your suffering will be by Kenobi’s hand. At least now I know my patience will be rewarded.”

Anakin resists the urge to slide his saber between Maul’s ribs, reminds himself that he was the one that wanted to stay behind, that Obi-Wan had probably known best, as always. “I am nothing like you,” he growls, “You killed Qui-Gon. And I will _never_ let you hurt my Master again.”

Maul stalks towards him suddenly and Anakin’s hand flies to his lightsaber, durasteel arm bringing it up across his chest threateningly. But Maul only stops a few paces away, eyes flitting over the trees behind Anakin. Anakin refuses to turn.

“Let me tell you a secret,” Maul cajoles. His tone is conspiratorial, “My master cast me aside for _you._ When you _fall_ Anakin Skywalker – ”

Anakin’s saber crackles to life, a deadly blue blade of hatred. “Enough. Obi-Wan was right when he told me not to listen to a word you said. I should cut your tongue out for this.”

Maul doesn’t reach for his own weapon. Instead, he perks forward on his toes, spreading his arms wide, head thrown back to face the heavens. “Then let me _die,_ Skywalker,” he cries, _screams_ , the desperation in his voice sending shivers down Anakin’s back, “We’re all going to _burn_ \- we’re all going to _die_ – “

“I see your proclivity for dramatics hasn’t changed.”

Anakin whips his head around. Obi-Wan stands roughly twenty paces behind him, a bag in one hand, and a wry smile crooked on his handsome face. He shoots Anakin a look and Anakin powers down his lightsaber, almost sheepish.

Maul drops his arms heavily, though he still looks haunted. Anakin watches him step back towards the ship as Obi-Wan floats the bag over to him, settling it by his feet.

“If you two are quite finished here,” Obi-Wan looks between the two of them, almost chidingly, “Then I require my apprentice by my side. I’m afraid it’s almost time for supper.”

Maul sneers.

Anakin steps back quickly, walking backwards and almost crashing into Obi-Wan behind him. His master attempts to steady him, though the chill of Maul’s words still make his bones rattle.

“Are you alright, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks him, voice low, the words only for the two of them.

“Yeah,” Anakin swallows, “He just made me mad. I’m sorry, Master, I overreacted.”

Obi-Wan brushes a hand through his hair, makes a soothing noise that weakens Anakin’s knees further. He treasures the way Obi-Wan speaks to him sometimes, all soft and sweet and caring. His heart hammers, eyes meeting Obi-Wan’s clear blue irises.

“Take him,” Maul’s voice breaks through their tranquility, “Take your precious _chosen one_.”

Obi-Wan’s demeanor changes immediately, fingers digging into Anakin’s shoulder as he pulls him closer, urging him back towards the direction of Bandomeer’s farmland. When he speaks, his voice is low, more threatening than Anakin has ever heard it before in all his years at Obi-Wan’s side. “If you speak of such things again,” Obi-Wan warns, “I will kill you with my bare hands.”

“I expect nothing less from you, _Kenobi._ ”

**. . . .**

The walk back to the house is spent in silence, sun setting steadily beyond the waves lapping at the base of Bandomeer’s cliffs. Anakin vaguely thinks he’d like to go down there someday, if only to touch the water just once, but he’s not sure if he’ll ever have time for such frivolities.

At the moment, he’s concentrating on holding his tongue as Obi-Wan had suggested, keeping it clamped tightly between his teeth, biting down hard enough to taste blood. As they make the final bend to the dwelling, Obi-Wan finally seems to tire of watching Anakin squirm.

“What is it, Anakin?” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s facing the door, away from Anakin, and it makes it easier to speak.

“Maul said that he was case aside by his Master,” Anakin begins slowly, “just like I was.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders tense, the line of them suddenly straight. He doesn’t turn. “He also said the three of us were betrayed by those we served,” Obi-Wan points out, still talking to the door, “You mustn’t trust him, Anakin. Maul will always seek to exploit your weakness.”

“You were thrown out by the Jedi and betrayed by the Senate. He’s not exactly wrong,” Anakin argues. He takes a step closer, stands at the foot of the stone porch that leads to Obi-Wan’s door. His master is only a few steps away, still facing the durasteel door. Just out of reach, as always.

“Anakin – ”

“But it was still your choice to not tell me,” Anakin whispers at last, long overdue accusations lashing across the parsecs between them, force trembling with the absolute pain in the statement, “It was your choice to leave me. I’ve spent months trying to figure out what I did wrong. If I’d let you down somehow. If I’d disappointed you one too many times.”

Obi-Wan turns then to face him, a series of emotions staggering across his face. They’re gone too quickly for Anakin to catalogue, but he’s not done talking. Oh no, Anakin is _far_ from being done.

“And lo-and-behold, I find you on here, with _Maul,_ of all people. If you can tolerate _him_ then surely, _surely_ you could’ve tolerated me,” Anakin bites out, teeth clattering with the force of his words. “You cast me aside, Master, just like Maul said. You decided that you didn’t _want me – ”_

Obi-Wan interrupts him, can’t seem to bear to hear Anakin’s words any longer. He takes a step closer, stopping to stand at the edge of the porch, Anakin only a step below. They’re leveled now, eyes meeting easily, equals in the force in every way that matters.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says quietly, “You must believe me when I say I _never_ mean to hurt you, my dear. Unfortunately, hindsight is too often clearer than foresight. I left because I didn’t – ,” Obi-Wan breaks off, reaching out a hand to cup Anakin’s jaw, “ – didn’t _know_ what to say to you. I was _afraid,_ Anakin, you shut off our bond after I got back from the Hardeen mission, and I figured that perhaps you simply didn’t want me to be there. That you had Padme, Ahsoka, the Chancellor even. I never – ”

Anakin tries to twist out of Obi-Wan’s grip, eyes blurring with unshed tears. He’s unsuccessful, his Master holding him fast, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. “How could you think that?” he laments, broken, then instantly angry. So angry. Because all Anakin has been for years now is angry. “ _How_ could you possibly think that, Obi-Wan?”

The hand on his jaw drops away and Anakin misses it immediately.

“Because how could I not?” Obi-Wan gestures wildly.

There’s something untamed in his eyes, his careful layers of serenity stripped back like flesh peeled from bone, bared. Anakin is left staring into the very essence of his Master, and what he finds isn’t sweet, assured light, but something that resembles his own dim insecurity.

“I have been a burden to everyone in my entire life, Anakin,” Obi-Wan cries joylessly, fisting a hand in Anakin’s tunic, “First to the Order, then to Qui-Gon, and finally of course, to _you_ , my dear. You are the _chosen_ one Anakin, and I have _never_ been chosen. Not even once.”

The force booms in the ensuing silence.

Anakin watches Obi-Wan’s ragged breathing, the rise and fall of his chest heavy and deep, anguish steeping from him steadily like a Coruscanti hailstorm. His hair is askew, gold-spun strands in his face. The area under his eyes is smeared dark.

It’s only Obi-Wan’s attempt to turn that shocks Anakin into action. He blinks, tears spilling over across his cheeks. Ignoring Obi-Wan’s distressed noise, Anakin steps impossibly closer, crushing his toes against the base of the step, keeping them level and upright.

“Master,” he begins thickly, “I would always choose you. I would choose you every time, in any situation, a hundred times over. _Obi-Wan._ ” He swallows, stammering, “What you mean to me – is – we could stand here all day and I still wouldn’t be able to tell you. _Master_ – ”

And Obi-Wan yanks him forward, the hand in Anakin’s tunic tugging harshly until Anakin stumbles. But the motion doesn’t ease, pulling at him until he all but falls into Obi-Wan, an arm going up around Anakin’s neck, gripping at his collar.

Obi-Wan’s mouth is warm where it slants over Anakin’s own. Warm and wet and sweet. For a moment, Anakin fumbles with his hands, unsure of where he wants to put them first, head spinning from the intensity of his desire.

He settles for Obi-Wan’s ribs, fingers stroking gently over the caverns of his body, the quivering of his abdomen. In response, he’s rewarded with a low, deep noise, Obi-Wan licking into his mouth, shifting to kiss him properly.

Anakin is drowning.

He groans, shoves aside the niggling sense of confusion and allows himself to get swept up in the way Obi-Wan’s mouth moves against his own, demanding and hesitant all at once. The way his fingers brush the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, the way the hand in his tunic burns, makes him wish he’d stripped it off. Wishes he could have his Master’s hands splayed across his ribs, brushing bare skin. The soft noises Obi-Wan makes against his mouth. The way his beard tickles the corners of Anakin’s mouth. The scent of him, familiar yet new all at once. 

“I love you, Master,” Anakin mumbles into Obi-Wan’s mouth, brain frazzled, overwhelmed. “I love you.”

Obi-Wan makes a wounded sound, tears himself away, and cool evening air rushes between them.

Anakin blinks his eyes open. Ironically, he’s pressing back a smile until he catches sight of Obi-Wan’s face. “Master?” he reaches for him, but Obi-Wan startles away, taking a step backwards.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan offers, breathless.

Anakin feels a chill snake its way down his spine. “Obi-Wan?”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Way says again. He fumbles with the keypad behind him, letting the door slide open as he all but falls through the doorway. “That was careless of me, Anakin, I must apologize.”

“But – ”

The door slides shut. Anakin is left standing on the porch, hands still outstretched towards his master.

**. . . .**

The comm arrives well after the sun has sunk below the horizon. Anakin sits at the edge of the cliff, watches the roll of the ocean below. His stomach grumbles in displeasure, but he refuses to make his way to the common area.

Refuses to acknowledge Obi-Wan’s awkward dinner invite as if nothing had happened.

He rips out a fistful of grass, releasing it into the wind to be carried out to sea. Anakin’s not quite sure when he’d become such a fool. For a moment, he’d really thought – he’d thought Obi-Wan _wanted_ him. Wanted him like Anakin has always wanted.

And perhaps he had, perhaps Anakin would be flushed and sweaty and satiated in his Master’s bed right now if he hadn’t opened his mouth.

_You must learn to hold your tongue, Padawan._

He rips out another fistful of grass, cursing.

Ahsoka is almost a welcome distraction, even though Anakin often likes to brood alone when he’s licking his wounds.

His Padawan peers at him through the blue of the holocall. She’s sitting in a comfortable looking armchair, a little too extravagant to be Temple property. “Are you alright, Master?”

“Fine,” he grunts, “What do you need, Ahsoka?”

“Clearly fine,” Ahsoka mutters dryly. But then she sighs, so much older than her age. “I wish we had more time to talk, but I have urgent new for you.”

Anakin keeps his eyes trained on the ocean. “The Council?”

“Well, yes,” Ahsoka admits. She pulls a knee up to tuck under her chin and Anakin almost smiles at the slight glimmer of her sock, even through the holocall. “But I can handle them. Besides you’re always where you’re not supposed to be.”

“Har-har.”

“But there’s something else. And you can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

Anakin turns then, critical, giving his Padawan his undivided attention.

“Remember what happened to Tup?” Ahsoka asks, “Well Fives thinks he’s figured out why and he says it has nothing to do with a mental breakdown or virus or anything.”

Anakin blinks. The whole fiasco seems like it was eons ago. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “I remember. I thought Tup was being sent to the Council for investigation.”

“The investigation was denied,” Ahsoka looks troubled, “I don’t know how the Senate found out, but the Chancellor requested that Tup was transferred to a medical facility on Kamino and Rex sent Fives to accompany him. When they got there – ”

Anakin narrows his eyes. “Well if the Chancellor sent him there, then we should trust him to know what’s best for Tup. Maybe the Jedi aren’t the best to handle everything.”

Ahsoka hesitates. “Here’s the thing,” she hedges, voice wavering, “When Fives escorted Tup to Kamino, he found out that there are inhibitor chips implanted into the clones when they’re very young. Chips that – that might’ve caused the attack in the first place.”

“That’s ridiculous, Snips.”

“I have Fives here with me. Padme’s helping him hide because there’s a warrant out for his arrest after what he found out. Master,” Ahsoka implores, “We have to listen to him. I double checked his findings. Everything checks out.”

Anakin shakes his head in disbelief, “How could this happen without anyone knowing? Besides, how do we know that Tup’s chip wasn’t just a malfunction?”

“Fives says it was authorized by the Senate,” Ahsoka whispers, “And I agree with him.”

Pinpricks of fear bloom cold dread in Anakin’s bones. “What?” Anakin looks around, makes sure they’re alone, “You think Tup’s malfunction was authorized by the Senate?”

“No,” Ahsoka says slowly. Her expression is steady, contrasting the wildness in her eyes. She’s learned that particular technique from Obi-Wan. “I think the chips were authorized by the Senate, designed to control the Clones. Tup killing Master Tiplar wasn’t an accident, Anakin.”

“So what you’re saying,” Anakin stands, adrenaline pushing him to do something, anything without anything _to_ do, “is that the Senate authorized implanting chips into the Clones so they’d kill the Jedi? But why would the Senate want to kill the Jedi, Snips?”

“I don’t know,” Ahsoka concedes, “But whoever is behind this didn’t want the Jedi looking into Tup’s condition. Fives says the Chancellor had to be the one that – ”

“So you’re accusing the Chancellor then?” Anakin rolls his eyes, “I _knew_ you mentioned that he cancelled the Jedi investigation for a reason – “

“Master,” Ahsoka snaps, “I’m not accusing anyone, I’m just saying there’s a possibility that not everyone might be who they seem to be.”

Anakin presses a fist to his forehead. “The Chancellor isn’t capable of what you claim.”

A beat of silence passes and Ahsoka’s shoulders sag. “Is Obi-Wan there?” she asks, at last.

“Why,” Anakin snarls, suddenly furious, “Because his opinion is so much more valuable than mine?”

Ahsoka’s eyes widen and she jerks back like he’d hit her.

Anakin swallows. “I’m sorry,” he offers, shivering pathetically, “It’s just been a long day, Snips. I’ll pass the message on to Obi-Wan and let you know what he thinks.”

Ahsoka’s mouth thins, but she nods. “Hurry,” she whispers, “If what Fives says is true, we’re running out of time.”

Anakin nods in return, bids her goodbye.

When he stands, consciously or unconsciously, he doesn’t make his way down to the communal fire he can see blazing in the distance, but instead finds himself walking towards the darkened line of trees past Obi-Wan’s dwelling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I fell into the trap of the whole chapter being one giant conversation. I'm just trying to bring in all the plot points that I had in mind on top of working like 60 hours a week and my brain is absolutely melting. I've never been a strong writer when it comes to intricate plot lines, I usually just prefer a few major events and then exploring feelings + reactions. 
> 
> AH WELL, hopefully it's still enjoyable to read.
> 
> Next time, there will be (surprise, surprise) even more talking 😶 Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin & Obi-Wan finally, finally talk. About everything. 
> 
> Also, fair warning, there's an explicit sex scene halfway through this chapter (it's far too plot heavy & emotional to actually be sexy but a girl is trying ok 🥺)

Maul is in his ship, a ration bar in his mouth, when Anakin arrives. “What a pleasant surprise to see you again, Kenobi’s apprentice,” he drawls lazily. He’s perched at the edge of the docking ramp, feet swinging.

The trees bend around them, creating shadows in the fading light.

“We need to talk,” Anakin tightens his grip on the lightsaber at his side. His fingers are numb with cold, but he pointedly ignores Maul’s gesture to take a seat on the ramp, choosing the freezing forest air over the ship’s radiator out of caution. “No more games, Maul. I have questions and you’re going to answer them. One way or the other.”

Maul swallows a bite, unbothered. “Ask away, Skywalker.”

Anakin blinks, Maul’s easy acceptance settling wrong in his stomach. Briefly, he wonders if he’s making a mistake, whether he should’ve involved Obi-Wan like Ahsoka had asked. But first, he needs to settle his own beliefs, provide himself with a sense of clarity he’s sure Obi-Wan already has.

“Is there a plot to destroy the Jedi?”

A wide, blood-curling smirk breaks across Maul’s face. “The Sith always have a plan.”

Anakin loosens his shields, unleashes his stormy mood and crackling anger into the force around them. Just enough for Maul to feel it pressing threateningly around the two of them. “Answer the question,” he thunders.

Maul takes another bite of his ration bar. “Yes,” he says simply.

Cold dread settles in him. Maul could be lying, but something about the easy way in which he sits, almost leisurely, like he doesn’t even care about admitting it, makes Anakin deeply uneasy. “How can I be sure you’re not lying to me?”

“You can’t,” Maul says, matter of fact. His horns are almost luminescent. “But you can trust that we have a common enemy.”

“Sidious.”

Finally, Maul’s composure seems to break. He shudders, as if the very name brings him fear. “Darth Sidious, yes.” He turns away, weary. 

Anakin waits for more words, but when they don’t come, he continues. “If you want to destroy Sidious, then you have to tell us what his plans are.”

Maul laughs, cold and unflinching. “You are foolish, young apprentice. If I knew all of my Master’s plans, then I wouldn’t still be here.”

Anakin scowls. “Then you’re useless to me,” he snarls, igniting his blade in a blaze of fury. “Give me one good reason I should let you live.”

“I already told you, young apprentice,” Maul turns back to him, molten eyes fierce in the semi-darkness, “while I may not know all, I know enough. _You_ are his plan. My master cast me aside, forgotten, so that he may have you as his new apprentice.”

Anakin jerks forward, unbridled rage humming under his fingertips and roiling in the force around him. “You lie,” he growls, “I would _never –_ ”

“Open your eyes, Skywalker,” Maul cries, the air around them crackling with his dark anger, his desperation, “Your Republic is already crumbling. Sidious knows all, sees all. He was the one who sent me here to kill Kenobi.”

“Then why haven’t you?” Anakin demands.

“My loyalties have slowly shifted,” Maul says, defensive. He’s trembling, Anakin can see that much even from a distance. “There is no place for me in my Master’s future. He only cares about having you.”

Anakin swallows, “And what makes you so sure that I’ll stand at his side.”

“You already do,” Maul laughs, “You and the Jedi are so blind that a Sith could masquerade in your very Senate, plotting unnoticed for years.”

Ahsoka’s comm call rings in Anakin’s mind, her words a searing point of hurt, betrayal making it even sharper. “And you,” he swallows, the fight draining from him slowly by surely. “you didn’t kill Obi-Wan because you’re trying to stop Sidious?”

“Kenobi refused to fight, at first,” Maul leaps down from his perch, padding across the clearing until only a few feet of rapidly cooling night air separates him from Anakin. “But it was only after you arrived here that I understood,” Maul murmurs, almost talking to himself at this point. His gold eyes flash at Anakin.

“Kenobi is the last thing standing against Sidious and his plans.”

Anakin’s heart hammers. “You mean – ”

“Yes, young apprentice,” Maul faces him dead on, voice all knowing, smiling, “Sidious knows tis, so you must know it by now as well. Kenobi is the only thing that stands between you and the darkness.”

**. . . .**

By the time Anakin returns to the house, the lights are no longer visible in the windows. For a moment, he thinks Obi-Wan has already gone to bed, intent on not making anything all the more awkward. But upon entering, Anakin can make out his Master’s force signature hovering hesitantly in the main room.

Obi-Wan is perched on the couch Anakin has been sleeping on, radiating waves of uncertainty, expression drawn tight and guarded. His face is bathed in the soft firelight, the only sound in the room coming from a cleaning bot beeping from in the kitchen. It’s only after Anakin’s slid the door to the dwelling shut, the thump of it strangely final, that Obi-Wan turns to look at him. 

Anakin stutters for a moment, the events of their miserable evening returning to him in full force. He tightens his shields to hold back the embarrassed hurt, Maul’s taunts weighing down his psyche like a bleak cloud. All of his words seem to have been suddenly ripped from Anakin’s chest, leaving his lungs empty and rattling in the uncomfortable, stretching silence.

“Padawan,” Obi-Wan’s voice is barely a whisper. “ _Anakin_.”

Anakin shucks off his boots, lines them up beside the main door just to give his hands something to do. “Master,” he nods, eyes still averted, tightening his nerve. He has a responsibility right now. “I just spoke to – ”

“Anakin, wait.” Obi-Wan sounds desperate.

And despite it all, despite everything that is at stake, Anakin falls silent. The Republic has stood for a thousand years, surely it will stand for one more night. 

Obi-Wan settles his elbows on his knees, hunching over. His fingers run through his hair, roughly tugging at the caught strands. He looks lost, small, fragile like Anakin could break him in half if he so wished.

Anakin crosses the room to stand before him, an instinctive reaction after seeing Obi-Wan hunched over in a similar position on Geonosis, in pain. He shoves back his own hurt. “What’s wrong, Master?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know what’s wrong.

“We need to talk about what happened,” Obi-Wan says quietly. He raises his head, eyes meeting Anakin’s in the low light. “Please, Anakin, let me explain myself.”

Anakin kneels, sitting back on his feet as he brings his hands up to brace themselves on his Master’s knees. He thinks of what Maul said, of Obi-Wan standing between him and the darkness. “Alright,” he relents. “Okay, Master, tell me what’s wrong.”

Obi-Wan looks stricken at his acceptance, expression twisting in further hurt. “I – ,” his voice breaks, “I’m sorry if I frightened you. Or hurt you. It is never my intention to do so.”

Anakin lets out a long rush of air. He’s had enough round-about conversations in the past few days to last a lifetime.

“I just have one question,” he grits, steeling himself for an answer he’s hoping against hope not to year. “Do you not want me?”

The long silence that ensues is enough to coat Anakin’s heart in poison. He drops his hands to his sides in defeat, anguish settling deep in his core. But when he turns to rise, Obi-Wan reaches out to grip his shoulders, to keep him in place.

“I always want you,” Obi-Wan tells him. His voice is soft, but the admission is loud in the room. The fire crackles distantly, barely heard over the roaring in Anakin’s ears.

Anakin swallows, desperately trying to trample the hope blooming in his chest. “Then why did you push me away?”

Obi-Wan brings his hands up to cup Anakin’s jaw, calloused fingers gentling circles into the delicate skin behind his ears. The motion is sweet, loving, and Anakin leans into it ever so slightly, hypnotized.

“You were my Padawan,” Obi-Wan’s shame curdles through the air, “my charge. I never want to take advantage you or put you in harm’s way.”

“I’m an adult,” Anakin argues, bringing his hands up to settle over Obi-Wan’s knuckles. “I know what I want. Besides,” he shakes his head ruefully, “you’re far too good to do something like that.”

Obi-Wan’s serious expression doesn’t crack, but he does bring Anakin closer. “I know adults have not always been kind to you,” he says quietly, leaning down so that they’re eye-level, “Everyone wanted something from you when you were a child and most of them still want something from you now. You have to know, Anakin, I _never_ – not even once – ”

Anakin rolls his eyes, incredulous laughter bubbling up in his chest. “I know you didn’t lust after me when I was a minor. I wasn’t much to look at back then, anyway.” He shuffles forward on his knees, just enough to steep his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. “Only you’d punish yourself for something you didn’t even do, Master.”

Obi-Wan lets out a gentle huff of laughter. “I don’t want to take advantage of you, dear. You have to know how precious you are to me.”

“I love you,” Anakin reminds him, “I wouldn’t love you if I thought you were taking advantage of me.”

Obi-Wan sighs, but pulls Anakin up by the shoulders, guiding him until he’s straddled across his lap, Anakin’s knees pressed into the fabric of the couch on either side of his hips. Anakin tucks his head into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, feels an arm snake up his back and settle at the nape of his neck as Obi-Wan leans backwards to rest against the couch. He brings Anakin with him, keeping them close.

“If you’re sure, my love,” Obi-Wan murmurs into his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “You must be sure.”

Anakin leans further into the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck, hands trembling where they grip his shoulders. “I’m sure,” he rasps, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I came to find you because I couldn’t be away from you anymore. I love you, Master, I always have.”

Obi-Wan makes a broken sound, chest rumbling from where it’s pressed against Anakin’s. “And I you, Anakin. Always. Even if I don’t deserve you.”

Anakin shakes his head. “Master,” he murmurs, turns his head, nosing along Obi-Wan’s jaw, “You’re everything to me,” The words are falling out of him, thick and fast. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so sure Obi-Wan absolutely needed to hear them, “There’s no one else, nobody I’d rather have. It’s always been you, Obi-Wan, it always will be.” 

Obi-Wan’s cheeks feel hot, flushed, his embarrassment clear as day in the force. The bond between them lights up briefly, a thin strand of golden psyche pulling the two of them together. Anakin nearly gasps with how good it feels, how much he’s missed the mental connection. Obi-Wan’s cooling force signature surrounds him, allows him to breathe easier.

“You _do_ deserve better,” Obi-Wan insists gently. His voice buzzes pleasant and low in Anakin’s ear, teeth nipping at his skin, “You always will, but who am I to deny you, my dear?”

Anakin makes a sound of deep disbelief, shaking his head again. He doesn’t understand how Obi-Wan could possibly think that, let alone actually believe it. Obi-Wan, who has stood by his side for years, back-against-back on battlefields and council meetings alike, even when Anakin was wrong. Obi-Wan, whose smile warms the very insides of Anakin’s bones, whose happiness Anakin treasures above his own, whose kindness has kept Anakin’s anger at bay. 

He keeps his gaze locked with Obi-Wan as he leans down enough that their mouths may finally catch in a sweet kiss. It’s slower than their first, deeper, less desperate, but Anakin still feels like he’s drowning. Obi-Wan’s heady scent turns his mind into a pleasant haze, his hands warm and broad across Anakin’s back. The force is settled around him for once, no maelstrom of thoughts or anger. It is just him, Obi-Wan, and love.

Obi-Wan pulls back a hairsbreadth, chest heaving. Firelight reflects in his eyes when he blinks them open. He’s unbelievably handsome, Anakin thinks dimly, the gentle slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, made sharper by his neatly trimmed beard. Anakin hides his smile in Obi-Wan’s neck, suddenly bashful, and feels Obi-Wan laugh lightly.

“Where’s all that bravado of yours my love?”

Anakin feels a muffled sound of happiness leave his throat before he can stifle it. Obi-Wan’s endearments have only sweetened with love, each one sending a pleasant zing down his spine. He allows himself to imagine, not for the first time, if they’d be just as sweet in bed. Or perhaps, just as filthy.

He shivers.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan hums, hands still lazily stroking up and down his back.

Anakin kisses Obi-Wan’s cheek in response. “I’m here.”

“You’re very quiet.”

“I’m just happy,” Anakin whispers. He’s rewarded with a kiss on his forehead.

“I am too, dear one.”

**. . . .**

That night, Anakin gets to sleep in Obi-Wan’s bed.

He’s lounging in it, staring at the ceiling as Obi-Wan pads back into the room from the refresher. His tunic is off and only a pair of soft sleep pants sit low on his hips. Anakin wants to pull them off, touch him everywhere, trace the dips and scars on his skin with his tongue.

Obi-Wan’s gaze is similarly heated, his eyes dark where they rest on Anakin, take in the way he’s stretched out across the bed, head resting on folded arms. Anakin swallows, arching his back ever so slightly. He’s not putting on a show per say, but he’s not _not_ putting on a show either.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s voice is rough in a way Anakin has never heard it. “Are you sure?” He clears his throat, a tremble of vulnerability snaking around the words, “You must be sure you want me. I’m not sure if I could – I couldn’t handle you – ”

Anakin makes a wounded noise, reaching out to blindly grapple at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, pulling him close immediately. The bed dips as Obi-Wan crawls into it, straddling over him across the tops of his knees. He leans down to press a kiss to Anakin’s stomach, his sternum, before he shifts upwards, warm hands sliding under Anakin’s back to bring him infinitely closer.

Anakin feels his abdomen tremble, still burning from where Obi-Wan’s mouth had been.

There’s a moment of silence.

“I love you,” Anakin murmurs into the darkness, “It isn’t new. I’ve known for – _stars –_ for years now.”

Obi-Wan hums, sweeping the pads of his fingers across Anakin’s cheekbones. “Thank the force,” he jokes, but the words are caught on the edge of a whisper, far too serious to be taken at face value.

Anakin almost whimpers. He’s already half hard, he realizes almost dimly, blood flushing hot in his veins. He can feel himself stiffening further against the press of Obi-Wan’s body over his. From what he can make out, Obi-Wan is having a similar reaction, even if he squirms to hide it. It makes his head spin, the hairs on his arms rise in anticipation.

“Please,” he whispers, hushed, “Could I – ?”

Obi-Wan exhales like he’s been punched. “Anakin,” he breathes, voice heated, “I don’t know if that’s – we’re moving fast as it is – ”

“ _Please_.” Anakin’s heart pounds, the air in the room suddenly hotter, made thick by tension, damp with their arousal. “Only if you want to of course,” he stammers, “We don’t have to – “

“Oh, sweetheart,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pulling Anakin up with his arms, shifting until their positions are reversed. He kisses Anakin soundly, swallowing a moan Anakin can’t bring himself to hold back, “I _do_ want, my love, I want you so much.”

“Then take me,” Anakin tells him, sliding his hands down the xylophone of Obi-Wan’s bare ribs, tracing along tangles of odd scars, “Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes are soft as Anakin swoops down for another kiss, knees bracketing Obi-Wan’s hips. Their mouths meet once more, this time with far more intention. Anakin’s insistent, hands scrambling for purchase on every piece of skin he can get his fingers on. He kicks his feet, tries to pull down Obi-Wan’s pants with a scrunch of his toes.

“Easy,” Obi-Wan murmurs to him, his mouth a wet slide against Anakin’s lips. “Slowly.”

The words have the opposite effect. Make Anakin’s hips drive downwards, rutting desperately for any form of relief he can get. Obi-Wan digs his nails into the fabric that covers his backside in response and Anakin relishes the intrusion, rocking his hips harder, faster. Obi-Wan makes a low sound in response that Anakin swallows down immediately, mouth desperate and tongue incessant.

He rips his shields aside with a crash so that Obi-Wan may feel his naked want flushing through their newfound force connection. He’s trembling, the desperation of wanting Obi-Wan, of missing him, of fearing for him, all rising in him at once.

Heat burns between his legs, under his fingertips, along every crevice of skin that Obi-Wan presses his fingers into, all the while dragging drugging kisses out of him. A knee slides between his thighs and Anakin pulses his hips, his own sleep pants now embarrassingly wet.

“Obi- _Wan._ ”

Obi-Wan, for all that he is, _laughs._

“Oh my love,” he murmurs, eyes fever bright, cheeks flushed, and hair feathered across his forehead. He’s luminescent in the darkness, like moonlight. “What do you need?”

“Anything,” Anakin gasps, struggling to steady his hips, to keep them from seeking the friction of Obi-Wan’s bare thigh through the fabric of his pants. “I’ve imagined _everything_ so anything sounds good.”

Obi-Wan laughs again. “Come Anakin,” he struggles to keep his voice steady, “show me what you’ve imagined, then.”

Anakin feels heat gather in his underbelly, syrupy and thick. He drags his tongue against the hollow of Obi-Wan’s throat, scraping teeth and lips down his chest. His Master’s chest is firmly muscled, his skin warm and sweat-salty under Anakin’s mouth, splattered with a simply beautiful spray of freckles.

“ _Stars.”_

Anakin makes out the curse vaguely, feels Obi-Wan’s abdomen tremble under his mouth as he whimpers, laving his tongue across the band of his underwear, fingers pressing bruises into his thighs and back bowed. “Tell me what to do,” he groans into Obi-Wan’s fever hot skin, “Please, Master, tell me what you like.”

“Gods, Anakin,” Obi-Wan chokes, sliding up to sit back against the wooden headboard, shuffling Anakin until he’s laid out between his legs.

Anakin mouths at the hard length of Obi-Wan’s clothed cock, before he presses his face to his stomach to catch his breath for a moment, to bring himself a modicum of sanity.

“You don’t have to – “

In response, Anakin abruptly drags down the band of his underwear, shoving it as far down as their position allows, letting the elastic cut into the fat of Obi-Wan’s thighs. Obi-Wan’s arousal is even more obvious now, thick and leaking. Anakin swallows down a sob at the thought of bringing Obi-Wan _here,_ of being the one to do this to him.

“ _Anakin – “_

Anakin steadies himself wordlessly, dips his head to press a kiss to the fat head of his Master’s cock, lapping at the silt for the burst of bitterness that is uniquely Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan’s skin smells like woody soap, his hair fine and downy under Anakin’s tongue and fingers. He steadies a durasteel hand against Obi-Wan’s hip and fists his flesh hand around his cock, shifting.

They both sigh as Obi-Wan finally sinks into the plush softness of his mouth. Hands reach down, threading through Anakin’s hair gently, tugging, twisting, and Anakin finds himself torn between sinking down further to take Obi-Wan’s cock and pressing back into the gentle grip on his hair.

He moans instead, the sound muffled, and feels the breath go out of Obi-Wan like he’d been disarmed.

Finally, _finally,_ Obi-Wan seems to come into himself, hands tightening imperceptibly in Anakin’s curls. His want unfurls between them, thick and heavy, ringing around them in the force. Arousal slams across the bond.

Reassured now that the hands will follow, Anakin sinks down, flicking his tongue against hot, silken flesh, sucking wetly. He lets Obi-Wan rock his hips, press his cock against the back of his throat once, twice, thrice, before he draws back, gasping for air. His nails are digging crescent moons where they’re pressed into the skin of Obi-Wan’s thighs.

Obi-Wan groans loudly, reaches one hand down to steady himself against Anakin’s mouth. He presses the tip of his cock against Anakin’s bottom lip and Anakin laps at him in response, almost mindless this time, his mouth wet with spit. He glances up, finds Obi-Wan’s eyes darker than he’s ever seen them, flushed with a kind of want that he’s only ever dreamed about causing.

“Master,” he mumbles around heated skin, pressing fluttering kisses down the length of him and licking back up, tongue flat and broad, “Please.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan says shakily, nodding almost to himself like he’s unsure, “I think understand, sweetheart. Open your mouth for me, Anakin.”

Anakin’s dizzy with pleasure, squirming against the bed for his own relief briefly before he reminds himself that this was about Obi-Wan. He forces his hips to still and unhinges his jaw, lolls out his tongue, and thinks he can physically see the moment at which all thought seems to flit from Obi-Wan’s mind.

“ _Force,_ look at you,” Obi-Wan says, reverent. He re-fists Anakin’s hair, guiding him forward to gently sheath his cock back in Anakin’s mouth. “My _love_.”

Anakin keeps his eyes trained on him, blinks back the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He lets Obi-Wan use him, sucking gratefully as Obi-Wan fucks up into his throat, the sound absolutely filthy. Anakin’s own arousal is a dim roar in the back of his mind now, nearly forgotten save for the way he feels himself involuntarily jerk against the sheets at a particularly deep thrust.

Obi-Wan’s fingers tighten further. A tendon stands out in his forearm in the corner of Anakin’s gaze.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he mumbles, holding his hips steady as he guides Anakin down, down, _down_ until Anakin feels himself choke, Obi-Wan’s fingers holding him in place for a second longer than comfortable. “You feel so good, my dear.”

Anakin pulls off him then, mouth slick and gasping, pressing back against the firmness of Obi-Wan’s hands. He struggles up back onto his haunches, blindly shucking the rest of Obi-Wan’s clothes off him, tossing them into the darkness of the room.

Obi-Wan’s cock is a mess of his spit, smeared across the light smattering of hair that covers the underside of his abdomen and Anakin feels a fresh wave of arousal at the sight. He strips himself of his own pants and undergarments, tossing them to the side as if they burned even as he feels Obi-Wan’s silent amusement at his antics.

“Shut up, old man,” he grumbles, hands already pulling Obi-Wan back down onto the pillow, lining them up and pressing them together with a thrust of his hips.

Obi-Wan laughs between his urgent kisses. “I didn’t say anything.”

Anakin clenches his jaw against the feeling of Obi-Wan’s cock sliding wetly against his own. He grapples at his shoulders as nails dig sharply into the bare skin of his rear, breathing damply against Obi-Wan’s cheek. “I can feel you laughing at me,” he grits, even as Obi-Wan rocks up to meet each of his thrusts.

“Only in your mind, Anakin.”

Anakin huffs, shifting to drag Obi-Wan back into a biting kiss. The new angle lets Obi-Wan’s cock slip under him, press between his cheeks, teasing at his entrance, and Anakin startles and almost embarrasses himself right then and there.

“Oh _force,”_ he moans, banter already forgotten, “ _Please,_ Obi-Wan, _fuck me – “_

But something in the force stills suddenly, Obi-Wan’s shields coming up fast and impenetrable. 

Time turns on its side, frozen between two breaths and a word.

The fog of lust eases for a moment and Anakin shifts his weight up onto his elbows, bracketing Obi-Wan’s face instantly. Obi-Wan’s cheeks are flushed and he makes an aborted motion as if to hide, but Anakin nudges him back, smoothing his nose along the curve of his jaw.

“Master,” he murmurs, “don’t hide. If this is – if this this too much,” he lays a gentle kiss to Obi-Wan’s brow-bone. “I can keep sucking you. Or we can stop.”

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “I _–_ ,” he swallows and his chest catches on a breath not taken, “I have never _–_ ”

Anakin frowns when Obi-Wan breaks off, no further words coming forth, “With a man? That’s ok, we _–_ ”

“With anyone.”

The bomb settles somewhere under Anakin’s ribs, alongside his heart. “Oh,” he says, turning the information over in his mind.

_Oh._

The admission is –

He’s not sure what it is.

But it makes something rise in him, so overwhelmingly sweet and protective, that he can taste it at the back of his throat, still bitter from Obi-Wan’s cock.

“I’m sorry,” His master’s voice is miserable, “I should’ve said something sooner. I understand if you – “

“No,” Anakin shakes his head at once, “I was just surprised. Master, that’s – I don’t care.” He lets out a breath of shaky laughter, “Force be damned, I think I _like_ it actually.”

Obi-Wan makes a muffled sound, turning to catch Anakin’s mouth in a quick kiss. “Good,” his arm comes up around Anakin’s back, voice quiet, “I – I can tell you like when I. I want to tell you what to do, I _do_ , my love, but for tonight – perhaps you could – ?”

The unspoken question hangs in the air but Anakin can understand it as clearly as he sees Obi-Wan below him, still flushed and golden. And by the force, does he love this man.

“Yeah,” Anakin nods reverently, “yeah, of course.” He screws his eyes shut, shaking as he mouths more kisses down along Obi-Wan’s jaw. “Where - ?”

“Drawer,” Obi-Wan answers immediately.

Anakin stretches his arm to his side, sitting back on his feet, and a moment later, a bottle of bacta slaps into his palm so hard that it stings. He ignores Obi-Wan’s irritated huff, sparing him a wolfish grin over the rim as he slicks his flesh fingers more than generously.

The first push of one against Obi-Wan’s entrance is frightening, Obi-Wan tensed and quivering, until Anakin slides down to take him back into his mouth in distraction. He goes slow, working Obi-Wan open with a single digit until he can press in and out without resistance. He crooks it, searching, _prodding_ -

Anakin gags as Obi-Wan’s hips shoot upwards. He ignores the apologies stammered above, and presses himself further down, welcoming the burn in his jaw and tightness in his throat. He swallows around the head of Obi-Wan’s cock once before he pulls off. 

“Good?” he hums, triumphant and slightly cocky.

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes at him, but Anakin has him gasping within the next moment, fingers rubbing at a particularly sensitive spot inside him. In retaliation, Obi-Wan’s hand returns to his hair, tugging Anakin’s mouth back onto his cock, but Anakin only grins. He lets Obi-Wan rut up into his mouth shallowly, an arm braced across his hip to hold him somewhat steady, as he works Obi-Wan open with his fingers.

In all the times he’s imagined this, Anakin has never pictured it quite this way. And now, he thinks he’ll never be able to stop.

By the time he’s worked three fingers in, Anakin is drooling around Obi-Wan’s cock, the sound of his mouth filthy wet. Obi-Wan’s own mouth open is open on a silent cry, his skin clammy, the echoes of his pleasure bursting into the force around them.

Anakin waits until his Master is pliant and loose, taking extra care to use more than enough bacta on the both of them. Finally, he slides back up to kiss at Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “You think you can – ?“

Obi-Wan nods, exhaling harshly. He pulls Anakin close and turns his face into his neck. “Yes, my love. Go ahead.”

The first press in has them both gasping, Anakin trembling, watching the slow sink of himself into Obi-Wan’s heat. “ _Oh,_ ” he cries, “That’s – ”

Obi-Wan’s laughter is a breathy, flighty thing. He lets Anakin pull back once to rock into him gently, hips finally settling flush against his inner thighs.

“It is something, alright,” he murmurs. Obi-Wan glances up, smiling at Anakin with such fondness, such love, that Anakin feels himself crumble entirely.

Force, he would move galaxies for Obi-Wan. 

Anakin thumbs over Obi-Wan’s hipbone in fascination, watches the way his cock twitches with every gentle thrust of Anakin’s hips. Thinks about what it would feel like to take Obi-Wan in _him_ , chest pressed to the bed, Obi-Wan’s hands gripping his hips, pulling him back onto him, a hand around his throat, thick, calloused fingers in his mouth –

Thinks about curling around Obi-Wan, both of them on their sides as Anakin rocks into him gently at first, then harder and deeper until Obi-Wan is begging.

Embarrassingly, the images flicker uncontrolled through their new bond and Anakin feels Obi-Wan jolt down onto his cock in response, a hand reaching down to firmly stroke himself off.

Anakin can only watch, dumbfounded.

“Oh, _sweetheart,”_ Obi-Wan’s breathing is labored and he twists a hand at the nape of Anakin’s neck, tugging him closer, “You needn’t be embarrassed. I can do that for you, darling, you’ll look so good for me, so sweet under me – ”

Anakin gasps, hips fucking in harder, faster. He feels Obi-Wan drape a leg around his back, dragging him closer still. “ _I want – ”_

Obi-Wan hums, shifting Anakin by his hair to bring their lips together. He licks into Anakin’s mouth, the sweetness of him bursting across his tongue like a Jogan fruit. “I know what you want. Next time, we’ll make sure you’re nice and wet and open for me, okay?”

“ _Okay,”_ Anakin _sobs_ , hips snapping in a bruising pace, matching the rhythm at which Obi-Wan is stroking himself. “Just let me _please_ – can I come? Are you close?”

“Go ahead, dear one,” Obi-Wan soothes a hand down his back, palm cool against Anakin’s heated skin. “You did wonderfully.”

Anakin screws his eyes shut, thrusts into the slick heat of him once more, twice more, before his orgasm unfurls deep inside him, hot like warm steam, spreading across his nerves like wildfire.

In the blind, hazy aftermath, he faintly senses Obi-Wan start to come too, pulsing between their stomachs, mouth silently curved around a cry of _Anakin –_

Anakin pulls out immediately, scrambling against the sheets as he slides down the bed. He fists his flesh hand around Obi-Wan’s cock and laps at the head, bitter release spreading welcomingly across his tongue and lips, excess dripping out, down his chin. Obi-Wan’s chest is heaving above him, and he seems lost for a moment, far away in the force.

Then, there is a moment of sweet, hazy silence.

Anakin exhales. He curls to rest his head against Obi-Wan’s quivering thigh, trembling himself and drags a finger through the sticky mess of spit and cum on Obi-Wan’s stomach, fascinated. Obi-Wan’s is still stretched out on his back, the rise and fall of his chest rapid, one hand around his cock and the other in Anakin’s hair.

Anakin’s cock twitches once more at the image.

He swallows heavily, sweeping his gaze down, down, _down,_ watches as his come slides out of Obi-Wan, painting the insides of his thighs. Almost without thought, Anakin leans forward then, sliding his tongue against Obi-Wan’s rim, the sharp medicinal scent of bacta meeting his taste buds for a brief second before –

“ _Anakin!”_ Obi-Wan sounds scandalized.

Anakin draws back quickly, shoulders shaking in silent amusement. He doesn’t get to admire his handiwork for much longer though, because Obi-Wan yanks him up until Anakin is straddling him again.

His master looks mildly outraged, cheeks reddened, hair splayed out around him. His eyes are wide as they take in Anakin’s swollen mouth, the pinkness of his tongue as Anakin makes a show of licking his lips, the streaks of cum on his neck.

Obi-Wan’s helpless expression only makes Anakin laugh harder.

“Honestly, Anakin,” Obi-Wan huffs, stern even though he’s smiling, “You really are going to be the death of me.” 

**. . . .**

Hours later, in the inky darkness of Bandomeer’s night, Anakin finds himself draped across Obi-Wan’s warm chest, his cold feet pressed between reluctant shins. He teeters on the edge of sleep, safe and satiated and fulfilled.

Obi-Wan is humming gently, drawing absentmindedly on his back before his fingers still. “Didn’t you want to tell me something?” he asks, “When you first came in?”

Anakin blinks awake. “Yeah I did,” he admits, “I have a lot to tell you actually.”

Obi-Wan kisses his forehead. “Tell me then.”

Anakin pauses for a moment, splays a durasteel hand across Obi-Wan’s ribs and memorizes the way his chest rises and falls under his fingers. Just in case. “You might not like what you hear,” he whispers at last.

But Obi-Wan’s grip only tightens around him. “Tell me, darling.”

And Anakin does.

**. . . .**

They wake far too early because Anakin is hungry.

He makes Obi-Wan come down into the cold kitchen with him, even as his Master grumbles with every step he takes down the stairs. _I’m not the one who told you to skip dinner, Anakin._

Between the two of them, Anakin’s always been the better cook, and it shows quickly. The kitchen lights up with the smell of fried bantha meat and fruit sweetened flatcakes alongside the first break of sunlight.

Obi-Wan sits at the table unhelpfully, fingers curved around a warm mug of tea and a blanket draped over his shoulders as Anakin brings them their plates. He nods a quick thank-you, not speaking until he’s taken at least three full bites.

“I missed your cooking,” he admits, hushed.

“Of course you did,” Anakin teases gently, stroking Obi-Wan’s knee gently under the table. Now that he’s allowed to touch, he’s not sure how he’s ever going to be able to stop. “Your food is bland and tasteless.”

Obi-Wan smiles around his fork, eyes pushing up into little half-moons with the force of it. “The flavors are subtler,” he admits at last, “but I’d hardly call my cooking bland.”

Anakin rolls his eyes, “Call it whatever you want, old man.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes. Anakin sneaking glances up at the way the sun illuminates Obi-Wan’s golden-red hair, the blue of his eyes, the elegant way in which he holds his fork. There are bruises sucked into his neck, branded evidence of Anakin’s mouth. Anakin has matching scrapes left behind along his jaw, left behind from the burn of Obi-Wan’s beard.

When Obi-Wan catches his wandering eyes, Anakin flushes darkly, focusing his gaze back on the plate before him.

“Yes, Anakin?”

“Nothing.” Anakin takes a bite out of a too-hot flatcake, hissing. “Just thinking about how the Council’s probably gonna kill me.”

But Obi-Wan only chuckles, the sound light as he bites into a piece of fruit, “For abandoning your post? Undoubtedly.”

The genuine amusement makes Anakin startle, makes him drag his gaze back up to Obi-Wan. His Master’s eyes are already trained on him, an eyebrow cocked in an unasked question.

“That’s - _no_ ,” Anakin gestures with his fork unhelpfully, “We had sex last night, Obi-Wan, _sex_.”

“And?”

Anakin blinks. “And I told you that I loved you.” He points his fork at Obi-Wan, accusing, “You said you loved me back.”

Obi-Wan frowns, now looking at him unreadably, “What does any of this have to do with the Council, my dear?”

Anakin presses his durasteel palm flat against the table in emphasis. “Attachment,” he narrows his eyes, “is forbidden for a Jedi. We’re not supposed to love.”

“Honestly, Anakin,” Obi-Wan shakes his head, “either I’ve been a terrible Master or you’ve failed to listen to a single thing I’ve said over the years. As a Jedi, you are _encouraged_ to love.”

Anakin makes a frustrated sound. “I know, Master, but not like _this._ ”

And suddenly, he’s afraid. So afraid that this doesn’t mean what he thinks it does, that once the dream of Bandomeer ends, so will they. Maybe Obi-Wan isn’t attracted to him, maybe he only meant that he loved Anakin as a –

“Stop that right now,” Obi-Wan reaches across, threads his fingers with Anakin’s durasteel ones even though they’re cold and a little unpleasant to hold. The action makes Anakin’s heart feel funny, and he attempts to force down his panic.

Obi-Wan eyes regard him gently. He seems almost amused. “What’s the difference?”

“What?” Anakin’s voice is flat. He tries to pull his hand back, but Obi-Wan doesn’t let him.

“I loved you as a Padawan,” Obi-Wan explains calmly, “I would’ve done anything for you then and I would do anything for you now. The nature of it has changed, of course, but the fact remains that I have always have loved you. I’m sure you feel the same way about Ahsoka.”

“Well, yeah,” Anakin sputters, “But – ”

Obi-Wan brings his hand up to kiss, breath hot against Anakin’s wired knuckles as he speaks. “Love isn’t forbidden, Anakin. It’s attachment that we discourage. You must be willing to _let go_ of those you love _,_ to understand that all things must end. That there are events beyond our control.”

He tightens his grip on Obi-Wan’s hand, breath baited.

“But I will always be with you,” Obi-Wan promises him quietly, “In this life and beyond, in the cosmic force. Trust me, my love.”

And for the first time, the words don’t seem like an empty promise. They settle warm and right in his belly, reassuring and wrapped in love. “I understand,” Anakin swallows. It’s a bit like Obi-Wan’s love, he realizes with sudden, blinding clarity, ever-present but ever-changing.

Obi-Wan must see something dawning on his face because he laughs, head thrown back with the force of it in the bright morning. “I’m glad we’re finally making these connections. And to think, you’ve raised a Padawan to Knighthood already.”

Anakin flushes. “I’m good at a lot of things, old man, but understanding your riddles is not one of them.”

Obi-Wan reaches over to steal a syrupy flatcake from him with his fingers, eyes twinkling as he takes a bite. Anakin grumbles down at his now empty plate; that had been his last one. “You’ll get the hang of it someday, Padawan. Maybe even impress the Council with your knowledge.”

Anakin snorts, completely undignified. “The Council hates me and you know it. Especially Windu,” he makes a face, “Even though I don’t think anyone, except maybe Master Plo, really likes me.”

Obi-Wan makes a soft noise of distress. “Oh my love, the Council doesn’t hate you at all.” He frowns, brows furrowed, “I apologize if we’ve ever made you feel that way.”

Anakin frees his hand from under Obi-Wan’s grasps, knots his fingers together. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he says quietly, “I know they barely tolerate me,” he breaks off, gritting his teeth, “The worst part is I know that I deserve it. I know that I’m impulsive – too angry. But I’m trying,” his voice turns desperate, “I want to be better, Master, I really do. I just don’t know _how._ ”

Obi-Wan scoots his stool closer to put an arm around Anakin’s shoulders, draping the blanket around the both of them. “Anakin we are _all_ trying to be better,” he says gently. “I agree that what Maul said to you is deeply worrisome, but it will be easier to understand with our guidance – “

“ _Our?”_ Anakin breaks in incredulously, trying to free himself of Obi-Wan’s grasp, “You mean you’re going to tell the Council? Windu’s going to put _me_ on trial next, you know that right?”

Obi-Wan looks at him, eyes deep blue and as all-knowing as the ocean. “Anakin, Master Windu does _not_ hate you. We actually spoke about you shortly before all of this began. We think it might benefit you to take up Vaapad as an alternative form.” 

Anakin blinks, tries to imagine Mace Windu willingly teaching him anything. Especially something like Vaapad. He heard a rumor once that Obi-Wan had been interested in the form, but his request to wield it had been denied. “And you’re okay with this?”

Obi-Wan brings him close, kisses his temple. “Master Windu created Vaapad to answer his own weaknesses. It allows him to channel his darkness into a weapon for the light. You two have more in common than you’d like to believe.”

Anakin huffs, “Try telling that to – ”

“I’m not finished yet,” Obi-Wan cuts him off firmly. He pulls Anakin closer still, until Anakin is almost across his lap. “ _Anakin_ ,” his tone is fervent, “we _adore_ you, my love. We’ve raised you since you were a small boy, taught you everything we know, and you have become a far greater Jedi than any of us could hope to be.”

Anakin feels his face burn at the praise, a sudden knot of emotion rising in his throat. These are words that he’d never even dreamed Obi-Wan would say to him, words that he’s not sure that he will ever deserves.

But Obi-Wan only strokes a hand through his hair, the fingers soft. “We’re so proud of you, impulsive antics be damned,” he says quietly, “ _I’m_ so proud of you.”

Anakin snuffles. “Stop that,” he mutters half-heartedly, “I’m going to – “

There’s a rap on the door and Anakin shoots up off of Obi-Wan’s lap, the blanket falling to the floor. Obi-Wan looks puzzled for a moment, sharing a look with Anakin before he rises to cross the short space to the door.

“Are you expecting someone?”

Obi-Wan frowns at the door. “No,” he says. Nonetheless, he presses the unlocking sequence into the keypad and lets the door slide open, Bandomeer sunlight spilling inside in golden shafts. The sky is still pink, sunrise just barely passing.

Ahsoka pokes her head into the door, montrals swinging where she leans around Obi-Wan to glance into the kitchen. “Is that fried bantha?” she asks, sniffing.

Anakin groans from where he’s standing in the kitchen. Crosses his arms. “Snips, I thought you were covering for me?”

“She _was_.”

Mace Windu enters the dwelling in the sweep of brown robes. Behind him is a striking, dark-haired woman that Anakin recognizes as Depa Billaba, Windu’s padawan. He doesn’t know her personally, only knows that she was on the Council, a venerated Master. And that she was in a coma for six months that Windu had nearly lost his mind over.

Judging from the slight smirk that pulled at her lips, Depa was clearly feeling much better.

“Mace, Depa,” Obi-Wan nods at them, stepping aside, “Please come in.”

“Ahsoka,” Ahsoka nods at herself sagely as she steps over the threshold. “Why thank you, Master Obi-Wan, I’d love to come in.”

Anakin presses his lips together to hide his laughter.

Obi-Wan gives her an unimpressed look, one that Anakin is intimately familiar with. “Yes, little one, you may come in as well.”

They stand at the entrance of the living room wordlessly, right where Anakin had stood just a few days ago, even if it felt like eons had passed since that moment. He clears his throat, busying himself with tidying his and Obi-Wan’s breakfast dishes. At the last minute, he slides the leftover bantha in the pan onto a plate and hands it off to Ahsoka. She accepts it with a grin, eating with her fingers.

Mace Windu watches them for a moment and Anakin can feel his judgement in the force. Depa, however, still looks amused.

“What do we owe the pleasure?” Obi-Wan breaks the silence, ever the negotiator.

Mace Windu heaves a great sigh, rubbing at his forehead. “Will someone _please_ explain to me what exactly is going on?”

Anakin winces from where he’s standing over the sink. Ahsoka sends him a _I tried to stop him_ through their bond, but she doesn’t sound or feel the least bit sorry.

Anakin turns after drying his hands, leaning back against the counter. “I came to find Obi-Wan,” he says simply.

“Yes, Skywalker,” Windu snaps, “I can most definitely see that. But that’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

Obi-Wan intervenes, but he too sounds hesitant now, “Mace – ”

“How did you even find us?” Anakin shoots Ahsoka an accusatory look, but she throws up her hands in defense _._

Depa puts a gentle hand on Mace’s elbow, just a simple brush of fingers, but it softens the imposing look on Windu’s face immediately. “Your Master and I are good friends, Anakin. We knew Obi-Wan was on Bandomeer.”

Anakin gives Obi-Wan a look that his Master guiltily avoids.

“When you disappeared from the front, it didn’t take long to piece together where you’d gone,” she finishes calmly, folding her arms into her robe.

“So what now?” Anakin snaps, irritated, “You’re here to take me back to the Temple?”

Obi-Wan tries to send him a reassuring wave of emotion through their newly formed, fragile bond, but Anakin brushes it off impatiently. He’s not going back to the temple now, he _couldn’t._ There was far too much at stake.

“We _were,”_ Windu interjects, dark eyes narrowed to slits, “But then, _he – ”_

He throws a hand over his shoulder, pointing out of the still open door behind them where Maul is sprawled out along the porch steps, lazily enjoying the warm sunlight.

“ – _offered to bring us right to you_.”

Anakin turns, wide-eyed. Obi-Wan looks as thunderstruck as Anakin feels.

 _Stars._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go! I'm gonna be so excited to finish this mess 😂
> 
> Hope people aren't getting too bored of the non-stop talking. Thank you for reading, regardless!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conclusion, but also a beginning.

Mace Windu looks absolutely exhausted.

Anakin watches him take a seat at the dining room table besides Depa, while Obi-Wan takes the one across from them. Ahsoka doesn’t move forward, still hesitating by the door, until Anakin throw caution to the kriffing wind and invites both her and Maul inside.

He hands Maul a glass of blue milk with what he hopes is a threatening look and leaves him in the living room, pulling Ahsoka to the Jedi that have so rudely interrupted his few days of leisure by Obi-Wan’s side. Nobody comments as he scoots his stool closer to Obi-Wan and away from Depa and Mace, pulling Ahsoka between them so the three of them are balanced perilously upon two stools.

“I’m starting to get the feeling that you two know far more than you’re letting on,” Mace rubs circles into his forehead, eyes pinched closed in frustration. “Skywalker, Obi-Wan, who’s going to go first?”

Ahsoka brings an arm around Anakin’s shoulder, floods their bond with reassurance. Anakin’s hands are shaking where he has them fisted into his sleep tunic, the chill of the morning seeping into the pads of his feet.

“There’s a plot to destroy the Jedi,” Anakin clears his throat nervously when he finds four pairs of alarmed eyes drawn to him, “Maul confirmed to me that it involves to what Arc Trooper Fives reported about the inhibitor chips.”

“The chips _are_ designed to kill Jedi,” Ahsoka points out, deadpan. “I cross checked the intel Fives brought back from Kamino and I’m almost certain that that’s the plan, Masters.”

Anakin grits his teeth. He hadn’t been brave enough to utter those words, the grave severity weighing down the kitchen.

Depa settles her palms on the table. “Are we certain?”

Anakin forces himself to nod. “Maul confirmed. He doesn’t know all of the details, but his confirmation gives us a good starting point.”

“And how do we know we can trust him?” Mace interjects. He throws a glance at the wall that separates their conversation from Maul. “Skywalker, he’s a Sith.”

“We don’t trust him,” Obi-Wan breaks his silence at last. His gaze is focused firmly down on the table. “But he has – he does possess a very convincing motive. He would never reveal such information if he didn’t think it benefitted him somehow. After all, he has been here for months without trying anything.”

Depa frowns. “But how does this benefit him? Why would Maul betray his own master?”

Anakin wipes his palms on his tunic, tries to imagine a life on Bandomeer like the one Obi-Wan has led after his removal from the Order. The force, however, is not in a very cooperative mood. It provides him with no such reassurance.

“Maul has no master,” he forces himself to say. Ahsoka’s arm tightens around him, sensing his distress. A surge of love and infinite security manifests from Obi-Wan. “Darth Sidious killed his brother and kept Maul alive only so that he would kill Obi-Wan. His master is – is grooming a new apprentice.”

Depa leans forward in shock, dark eyes wide with worry. “Master, if Sidious controls the Senate,” her and Windu share a troubled look, “what if his new apprentice is hidden in the Order?”

Mace looks positively grim at the thought, like he’s already resigned to the notion.

Anakin’s tongue feels like sandpaper. He meets Obi-Wan’s gentle gaze over Ahsoka’s montrals and fills his lungs with the courage of a deep breath. “There’s no Sith spy in the Order,” Anakin closes his eyes, steeling his nerves. “I know because from what I can tell, from Maul’s intel and my own – own experiences, Sidious has been grooming _me_ as his new apprentice.”

He feels more that hears Ahsoka suck in a shocked breath at his side. “Master – “

Anakin cuts her off, desperate now. “But I _swear_ , I didn’t know, I didn’t fully understand. I still don’t want believe it, but when I look back at some of our meetings, especially when I was a lot younger. He was always – always critical of the Jedi. Always quick to point out that nobody trusted me or wanted me around. Like he was trying to turn me against – “

Mace Windu holds up a hand and Anakin closes his mouth miserably. The lines of his eyes are hard, brows drawn tight. “Skywalker,” he says gruffly. “I’ve heard enough.”

Panic shoots through him and Anakin makes to stumble to his feet, but Ahsoka grips at his tunic, holding him in place. Obi-Wan stands, moves to perch behind him, and Anakin feels the solid line of his chest against his back as warm hands settle over his shoulders. Between him and Ahsoka, Anakin is effectively trapped.

“Anakin, calm yourself,” Obi-Wan’s thumb strokes circles into Anakin’s shoulder. “Nobody is angry with you, I promise.”

Depa drags a hand down her face, shaking her head. When she speaks, her voice is carefully steady. “Obi-Wan is right, young one. I’m afraid it’s us who have failed you. It’s our responsibility to be mindful of our Padawans and ensure their safety.”

Mace is still silent, regarding Anakin with a deep, searching gaze that almost makes him flinch.

Obi-Wan’s hands tighten imperceptibly. “Yes Depa,” his voice is tight, “I know.”

Depa looks at him sharply. “That is absolutely _not_ – ” 

“Who is it?” Mace asks tiredly. He puts a hand on Depa’s shoulder, pulls her back into her seat. “Who in sithhells is doing this, Skywalker?”

Maul chooses this very moment to stalk across the kitchen and drop his empty glass into the sink with a loud clatter.

Anakin shocks up at the noise, but Mace’s shoulders don’t even move. He only turns his head slightly, hand still settled over Depa’s shoulder. “Darth Maul,” he nods.

Maul leans against the kitchen counter, cradles his chin in his hands and raises two sly eyebrows. “Just Maul now, thank you,” he says.

“Alright, Maul it is,” Mace concedes, but there’s still a note of incredulity in his voice, like he can’t believe what exactly he’s saying. It’s fair, Anakin himself feels like he could faint at any moment. “We were just discussing you. We want to – “

“Chancellor Palpatine,” Maul says and the name punches low and fiery in Anakin’s stomach.

He feels a deep curl of betrayal, a white hot lick of fury only making it more acidic. There’s a flare of similar anger from Obi-Wan, shock from Ahsoka.

“I believe my master calls himself Chancellor Palpatine when he’s in the Senate.”

And it’s – it’s true. Anakin knows this dimly, but spoken aloud, the words are piercing. Daggers in the very fabric of his life, everything they’ve known – about the war, the sith, the clones – it’s all a lie. It’s treason.

But Windu only sighs heavily. “The dark side of the force surrounds the Chancellor,” he admits. “Master Yoda and I have been blind to it for years, but since Obi-Wan’s departure, it’s stronger than ever. Like he’s emboldened.”

He stands in a sweep of brown robes. Presses a fist to an open palm and bows at the waist to Maul for a mere second. Maul on watches on, teetering between disaster and mild amusement.

“Alright, Maul,” Mace Windu’s voice is steely. “Why don’t you enlighten us. How do we best Darth Sidious?”

Maul smiles widely, teeth glinting in the sunlight. “It will not be easy. If it was,” Maul makes a low noise, almost a snarl, “he would already be dead and I would have my revenge. But unfortunately for us, Sidious is perhaps the most skilled force wielder in the galaxy.”

Obi-Wan huffs a laugh, the sound cutting through the kitchen like a blade. Maul narrows his eyes at him and Anakin stomps down the urge to stand, to cover Obi-Wan from his fearsome sight.

“And unfortunately for him, _we_ have Anakin.”

**. . . .**

It’s dusk by the time the dust settles.

Anakin is to remain here with the AgriCorps while Mace and Depa return to Coruscant empty-handed to create the falsehood that Anakin was not willing to return. Ahsoka is to be sent to Kamino to work with Master Ti to see what could be done about the chips. A manual override of each and every implant would be impossible, far too time consuming. But, Ahsoka’s always had an eye for technical solutions, much better at actual programming than Anakin himself, who exceled at building.

 _Leave it to us_ , she tells him confidently, _me and Master Ti will figure out a way to block the chips from receiving any transmissions so Sidious can’t use them in whatever plan he has._

Of course, none of this holds any meaning if Anakin is unable to bring down Palpatine.

The fact weighs heavy in his mind as Windu disarms him once more in the waning light of Bandomeer’s evening.

Anakin breathes heavily as he watches his lightsaber skitter away from again, disappearing into the wheatgrass near Obi-Wan’s dwelling. Obi-Wan himself is seated on the stone porch, chatting amiably with Mara, while Sanya receives a dual-wielding crash course from Ahsoka. Anakin had been right, she’s picking it up quickly, almost a natural at the form. Depa cheers her on from the sidelines, eyes warm in the last rays of sunlight.

Apparently Depa and Sanya were in the same initiate class back at the Temple and were old friends. Sanya had shuffled, embarrassed when Depa had thrown her arms around her, but when Windu bowed, her face had softened immediately. She’d looked at Anakin unreadably, but her shoulders had loosened, like she’d been released from a burden.

Anakin can understand the feeling.

“Skywalker,” Mace warns. “Focus.”

Anakin snaps his gaze back to Master Windu as he calls his lightsaber back into his hand. He tries to swallow back the rise of anger and humiliation that creeps up the back of his throat. “I _am_ paying attention,” he snarls back.

Vaapad is a tricky beast and it evades him aptly. The strikes are harsh, staccato in nature, quick, lacking the finesse and power that Anakin is used to. Nonetheless, the force surges around him, prodding him into another attempt.

Windu comes at him again, his force signature a tumultuous mess of thick, choking energy. Anakin brings his saber up to defend, but the blow is so strong that his elbows buckle. He kicks at Windu’s feet, managing to catch the inside of one knee.

Windu grunts, falling back, as they circled one another. “You need to immerse yourself further into the force. Vaapad is not kind to those who lack control.”

It goes against everything Anakin has learned from Obi-Wan over the years to willingly sink deeper into the force’s unruly currents. One of the first lessons he’d received from Obi-Wan was that he could think of the force as being like an ocean. Jedi were to hover at the surface, drawing energy from the flow of waves, never seeking to control more than what was in their power. The deeper one sunk, the more pressure there was. The more pain they were in. And if one sunk too far, they would not resurface.

Anakin has sunk once. Sunk deep enough that the pressure had blown out his ears on the searing, barren surface of Tatooine. So now, he hesitates.

Windu regards him carefully, eyes dark as he sheathes his lightsaber abruptly. Anakin lets out a long rush of air, the sounds of Sanya and Ahsoka laughing still loud behind him. “I don’t know if I’m meant to wield this form,” he admits then, shamefaced.

Windu motions him towards the far edge of the land where Anakin and Obi-Wan had stood the first morning of his arrival. “You are incredibly talented, Skywalker,” Mace tells him quietly. The praise makes Anakin startle in his steps as he’s clipping his lightsaber to his belt. “I know your heart is in the right place.”

Anakin swallows, attempts to let the sounds of the ocean drown out his next words. “You don’t know what I’ve done,” he whispers.

Mace crosses his arms, hums distant and thoughtful. “And I don’t need to know. It’s in the past.”

“But – ”

“Your responsibility now is to move forward and be better,” Windu continues, looking out onto Bandomeer’s sea. “Don’t let the past haunt you. We have all made terrible mistakes, myself, and Obi-Wan included.”

Anakin swallows. Obi-Wan had told him about a fateful battle on Theed all those years ago, words hushed and blanketed by the dark of his bedroom. Anakin hadn’t been present at the fight to witness it, and perhaps even if he had, he wouldn’t have understood. 

“I don’t know if I can,” he admits quietly. “The guilt of it. It holds me back. I never want to be that person again.” Anakin falls silent then, half listening to the sounds of Obi-Wan and Mara talking behind them.

“You are afraid to delve further into the force because you think you will not resurface.”

Anakin snaps his gaze back to Windu, who’s already looking at him steadily, eyes all-knowing like he’s gazing into Anakin’s very soul. Obi-Wan had once remarked how similar he and Windu were and the thought rises unbidden in his mind now. 

To his shock, Windu puts an arm around his shoulders. “Skywalker, you are too hard on yourself,” he shakes his head, “Tatooine was unkind to you and in many ways, so was the Temple. It took Obi-Wan months of seeing the mind healer before he was able to speak about his days spent in slavery. Give yourself the chance to heal.”

Anakin’s mouth opens in shock, the gears in his mind screeching to an abrupt halt. “Obi-Wan was a – _slave?_ ”

The revelation is dizzying. How many times has Anakin raged that his Master never truly understood him, never truly understood his past or his feelings? His tantrums feel thoughtless now, all of them. The thought of not being alone in his experiences has foolishly never crossed his mind.

Mace winces. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that if you two haven’t talked about it,” he admits sheepishly, rubbing his free hand over his face. “Point is, Skywalker, you _must_ learn to let go of your fear. Contrary to what people would like to believe, there is no way to anchor yourself in the light, no bond or person you can use to rid yourself of the dark. Vaapad will teach you to stand at the precipice of power, and use the strength of your own will to turn away each time.”

Anakin nods, more than a little overwhelmed. He thinks of Obi-Wan’s dark energy on Theed, of the struggle Windu must have gone through to create such a form, of Obi-Wan mourning the loss of Quinlan and then rejoicing his return.

“It’s about making the right choice,” he says, voice hoarse. He clears his throat. “About always trying to make the right choice.”

Windu nods, eyes solemn. “This is what will allow you to strike down Sidious and use his powers against him.”

“I understand.” Anakin grits his teeth, the salt of the breeze thick against his nose and tongue. “I think.”

“That’s always a good start.” Mace claps him on the back, smiling faintly. He gestures to the open expanse of land where they’d just been sparring. “Come,” he says, unsheathing his saber once more. “And remember, when you stand against Sidious, you don’t stand alone.”

**. . . .**

This night is just as dark as all of the others, but Obi-Wan’s dwelling feels warmer than usual, lit up with the bright force signatures of those Anakin covets most. Ahsoka’s in the dining room, winning a game of Sabaac against Maul, while Depa and Mace stretch out their sleeping rolls along length of the living room. Obi-Wan is humming away in the refresher upstairs, probably preening at himself like he always does.

He’s just gone down for a drink of water when he catches Depa sitting at the foot of the stairs. Anakin stares at her back while she talks lowly into her wrist comm, the faint blue of a young boy’s face shining through the holocall.

“Padawan,” Depa whispers gently, “all will be alright, you’ll see. Caleb, please – ”

“ _When are you coming back, Master?”_

“Soon,” she murmurs, “I give you my word that I am safe. Mace is here, Obi-Wan is here, even Anakin and Ahsoka are here. I am perfectly fine.”

_“But my dreams. They’re visions, Master. Something bad is going to happen to you, I saw it.”_

The voice on the other end of the call reminds Anakin of himself, small and afraid and insecure. Depa’s soothing tone is deeply reminiscent of Obi-Wan’s own, and somehow viewing the interaction from the distance of a spectator is enough for Anakin to believe Depa when he had never believed Obi-Wan.

“Dreams are not always visions, Caleb. And even if they are visions, they don’t often unfold the way you think they will.” Depa reaches out towards the holocall, cups the air as if it were Caleb’s cheek. “I will be home in less than two rotations. Auntie Sanya says she’ll finally visit – “

Anakin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

“ – and we’ll all go to Dex’s, okay? It’ll be fun. Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?”

There’s a moment of silence before Caleb sighs. _“No I’ll be okay,”_ he says quietly. He sounds tired, on edge. _“I’ll see you soon, Master. Please be safe.”_

Anakin can practically hear the love in Depa’s voice. “May the force be with you, my dear Padawan.”

_“And with you, Master.”_

The holocall switches off and Depa sighs heavily, tipping forward to rest her forehead against her knees, still curled on the bottom step. Before Anakin can move, Windu appears around the corner of the stairwell, brows knit together in concern as he kneels before Depa. If either of them sense Anakin awkwardly hovering, they make no indication of it.

“Depa?” Windu’s voice is incredibly soft, softer than Anakin has ever heard it before in his entire life. He watches, almost dumbstruck as Windu curls a hand atop her head, smoothing back her dark hair. “Are you alright, young one?”

“Caleb’s having nightmares again,” Depa’s voice is muffled where her face is pressed into her knees. “And I don’t know what to do.”

Mace sighs heavily. “He’s not alone. Many of the younger Padawans and initiates are complaining about their dreams. Even Kit says he’s having trouble sleeping lately.”

Anakin feels his stomach bottom out as Depa raises her head. “You don’t think it’s – ”

“He will use any means necessary,” Mace replies grimly. “I put nothing past him. He’s targeting our vulnerable and it’s only going to get worse. He’s trying to cut us down, piece by piece.”

Depa shakes her head and tips forward until her face is pressed into Mace’s shoulder. He holds her and Anakin hears him hum reassuringly.

Fascinated by their interaction as he is, Obi-Wan’s sudden hand on his shoulder almost makes him jump out of his skin. When Anakin turns to face him, Obi-Wan’s eyes are alight with mirth, mouth pulling teasingly up at the corners.

“You know it’s rude to eavesdrop,” Mace’s voice is dry as he calls up the stairs, “I expected this from Skywalker, but you Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan laughs, bundling Anakin down the stairs as Depa’s shoulders jump in surprise. Mace doesn’t let her out of his arms, even as he pulls them up into a standing position to allow Obi-Wan and Anakin to slip past them.

Anakin snorts. “Where do you think I get my manners from?”

Depa huffs as she leans further into Mace’s shoulder. Her lips are twitching though, eyes flitting between Anakin and Obi-Wan “He’s not wrong, Master. Don’t you remember what Obi-Wan was like? _Insolent,_ you used to call him.”

Anakin sputters, twisting in Obi-Wan’s arms to face him in mild shock. Obi-Wan in turn looks deeply sheepish. His lips are pressed together in that way he does when Anakin knows he’s said something particularly ridiculous.

Finally, it’s Mace that laughs and the sound almost makes Anakin jump out of his skin. Obi-Wan’s arms tighten around his waist to keep him in place.

“How could I forget, Depa?” Windu drawls, “You were most often his accomplice.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes are now creased with the force of his smile, gaze warm and fond where it rests on Anakin. He’s luminous in the force, a complexity that Anakin will probably never fully understand. Anakin brims with love at the thought.

Obi-Wan presses a kiss to Anakin’s temple, holding him closer. The action blazes of adoration, makes a blush creep up his temples in response. “However, I must say that we never got into quite as much trouble as you and Ahsoka,” he murmurs gently into Anakin’s flushed skin.

Anakin feels the burn of Depa and Mace’s gaze on the back of his neck, suddenly conscious of the unmistakable way Obi-Wan is holding him.

He hears Depa take a sharp breath. “By the Gods,” she says, voice filled with false awe, “Did Kenobi finally get his head out of his ass?”

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to sputter now, his face flushing a sharp pink that has Anakin thinking shamelessly of the night before. The night to come. The nights that Obi-Wan has promised him. It takes a resolve of steel for him to reel his thoughts back before he makes this moment even more embarrassing.

“I’ll have you know that _he_ was just as bad,” Obi-Wan sounds mildly outraged.

Anakin blinks. “ _Hey – ”_

“Maul cheated!” Ahsoka stomps into the living room abruptly, making Anakin jump away from Obi-Wan like he’d just been shot. “I _know_ he cheated. There’s no way he just pulled a full Sabaac from his hand.”

Maul follows her, looking smug and amused. “Give it up, little Jedi. Your kind can never admit when they’ve lost. Now pay up.”

Obi-Wan frowns. “Ahsoka,” he warns. Anakin has heard this tone a million times in the past. “what’ve you lost us?”

Ahsoka turns to Anakin, eyes desperately seeking an out. A pleading _Please, Master_ slides across their bond. Anakin snorts. “You’re on your own this time, Snips.”

Obi-Wan throws him a disapproving look before his attention returns to Ahsoka.

Ahsoka squirms even as Maul’s laughter booms. “He might have bet me Master Windu’s ship.”

“Oh thank the Maker,” Anakin throws his hands up, stalking across to give Ahsoka a triumphant high-five. “At least you didn’t bet _my_ ship.”

Windu groans and for a second it looks like he wants to argue, but Depa nudges him with her elbow, grinning from ear to ear.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Bed. Both of you, _now_. And you,” he turns to face a still cackling Maul, “out of my house this instant.”

Maul raises his arms in defeat as he stalks backwards to the front door. His gait is easy, confident, a far-cry from a broken Sith-lord and Anakin wonders for a brief, flash of a moment, whether Dooku would feel the same way if he knew what had transpired on this small, forgotten planet.

Maul yanks the door open, forgoing the keypad all together. But before he leaves he pauses at the doorstep, turns to throw Anakin an unreadable look. “Sidious is wrong about you,” he remarks, voice uncharacteristically quizzical and strange. “You are not as alone as he thinks you are, Kenobi’s apprentice. Perhaps we have a chance after all.”

Anakin stands, dumbstruck. Words stick to his throat, lips twitching soundlessly in reply.

Maul steps outside, golden eyes bright in the darkness. “You will avenge us.” He nods at Anakin, force presence steely before slipping away into the darkness. By morning, he is nowhere to be found. Maul has simply vanished, along with every drop of fuel in Windu’s tank.

“Great,” Windu mutters unhappily when they make the discovery, “Now we’ll have to hunt him down again.”

“Yes, perhaps we will.” Obi-Wan sends him a wry smile. “But there are more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.”

**. . . .**

Anakin helps Obi-Wan put away their lunch dishes, both of them elbow deep in soap suds. Ahsoka is off with Sanya for another Jar’Kai lesson and from the kitchen window, he can see Mace and Depa laughing while they spar in rapid, precise Vaapad. The form still evades Anakin, something about it wildly uncontrolled in a way he doesn’t fully trust himself to blindly fall into yet. But he is learning and, somehow, that is enough. 

“Credit for your thoughts?”

Anakin blinks down at where Obi-Wan is leaned back against the counter at his side. He swallows, gathering courage as he mindlessly sets the plate in his hand into the drying rack. “I never knew you were a slave.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes dim slightly. “Did Mace bring this up?”

Anakin nods, a knot caught in his trachea. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Obi-Wan dries his hands, takes him by the shoulders to pull him close. “It was a long time ago,” he bits his lip, inhaling sharply. “When I first came to Bandomeer, it was controlled by an off-world mining corporation. I was young, untrained, and arrogant enough that it landed me in quite a bit of trouble.” He smiles faintly, “Getting out of that mess was how I really met Qui-Gon.”

Anakin nods. Leave it to Obi-Wan to look for a silver lining even here. It makes something ache in him, makes him determined to find the good in his own life, especially when it was already brimming with so much love. “Why did you never tell me?”

Obi-Wan leans up on his toes to kiss his forehead and Anakin catches him around the waist to tug him closer still. “What is two weeks against a lifetime? I would’ve sounded foolish if I had tried to relate to you in that way, Anakin.”

“Not to relate.” Anakin kisses Obi-Wan’s cheek, his nose, presses their mouths together. “Just to talk. I want to hear about you, Master. You – I love you. So much. I want to share things with you and have you share them with me.” He swallows. “I want you to know you’re important to me.”

The way Obi-Wan looks at him then makes Anakin tremble. How Bandomeer itself doesn’t shatter apart under the force of such a look, he will never know.

“Oh, _Anakin._ ”

Obi-Wan’s eyes are impossibly soft. He pulls Anakin closer still, even though their bodies are already pulled flush against one another.

Anakin presses back the smile threatening to split across his face, suddenly bashful. “I don’t ever want to disappoint you.”

“You never have,” Obi-Wan’s fingers come up along his hips, press into the sweet bruises that still lay under Anakin’s tunic from the night before, “and I know you never will.”

“Good,” Anakin replies firmly. He smiles, “After we beat Sidious are you going to return to the Order? I don’t think you’ll still be exiled after that.”

Obi-Wan hums thoughtfully, nipping at his jaw. “Perhaps,” he admits, “I want to see the Jedi be peacekeepers once again, like the corps members here on Bandomeer. It’s what we were always meant to be.”

Anakin nods, grasps that his question is most likely more than a little premature. The force tells him that the journey ahead will not be easy. But, for all the uncertainty that is certain to come, he knows that Obi-Wan by his side, is an unspoken assurance.

“I understand,” he murmurs, leaning down to loop his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck. Their foreheads press together now and for the rest of their days. Around them, the force blazes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, first all thank you to everyone who read this monstrosity. I'm sorry the last chapter took so long to finish, I blame life and endometriosis LOL. 
> 
> And before anyone says it, I understand that this story is a little boring. It's very much me kind of working through Star Wars philosophy and trying to give every character the some-what happy ending that I wanted for them because I'm a sap. It doesn't have any fun tropes or really a plot line at all and I was so down about it that I didn't even want to finish it at some point. But then I was like you know what it's a fanfic, what the hell, let's just get it done and I'll learn from it next time. 
> 
> So....see y'all in a few weeks with a memory-loss!Obi-Wan AU that I promise will be more entertaining to read than this ❤️


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